A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. She wondered occasionally why his mind needed so much distraction. "I know exactly what I have done," replied Spurlock. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. Then he rallied, smiling a little. All at once it came to him what a fool he was to worry over this phase which was wholly suppositional. But what he could do or might do she could not imagine. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. Because Leonardo, he made me see that I can be someone. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected. Make up your mind as to the terms, and I'll engage to find the man.
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