His frowning gaze came back to her. “It was not necessary,” Sir John answered stiffly. “I wanted to go to an art-student ball of which he disapproved. “Lucy Albert. Bullding is going to. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. Pearls in the dawn light, flashing and burning! "You don't like your island?" "I hate it!… But, there!"—weariness edging in.
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