Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. ” “Why?” asked Hetty. ” Brendon was not inclined to be led away from the point. ” “You could never be that,” he answered, “but you are at least more serious than usual. Why should I peep at it through smoked glass to see things that don’t affect me?” He smiled his delight at his companion. She was a very elegant young woman, slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an air of reserved strength underneath her quiet face and manner which Annabel may have lacked. Her sister’s words were true. Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. " "There was a yacht in the river?" "I have nothing to say.
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