He had, however, planned brilliant careers for his two sons, and, with a certain human amount of warping and delay, they were pursuing these. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. I am ready to wait for you, to wait your pleasure, to give all my life to winning it. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. I’m not that sort I quite agree.
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