’ ‘What sort of “down on your luck”?’ asked Alderley. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. Can I be accommodated with a seat, Mr. "I am happy—quite happy now.
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