Spurling, and her now accepted suitor, resumed their seats. ‘You are not sympathique in the very least. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself. "He called me a wanton, Hoddy. " "What for? What do you want of them?" "Why, they are … yours. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed.
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