To disillusion her, forthwith. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. Little woman, you have been brave enough before. He waited the pleasure of Monsieur. There he was, standing with a group of men who she presumed to be the other richest men in the world. 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.
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