“But don’t you know about me?” he said at last. " The Wastrel advanced. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. Lost me place, that’s all. . McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. Spurlock advanced, the censer swung high. What happened between Ruth and her father that made him hurry off without passing ordinary courtesies with me?" "I suppose I ought to tell you," said Spurlock; "but it is understood that Ruth shall never know the truth. The necessity which had previously existed of leaving the ghastly evidence of the murderous deed undisturbed,—the presence of the mangled corpse,—the bustle of the inquest, at which her attendance was required,—all these circumstances produced a harrowing effect upon the young girl's imagination. “I have had adventures—oh, more than one, I can assure you.
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