She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. "Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble. Of course, one doesn’t like to talk about things until there are things to talk about. "Aw, piffle!" he said, half aloud and rather disgustedly, as he stepped out into the sunshine. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical.
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