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. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. But to go courting a slave-girl, at the risk of physical hurt! A shudder of distaste wrinkled her shoulders. " "Thank you! thank you!" faltered Jack, in a voice full of emotion. " "But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy.
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