I shan't let you off a farthing. Spurlock grew cold. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Please yourself. She could accord her father with one grace: he was not in any manner a hypocrite. “Do you mean to say that you have been here ever since I came?” “I am afraid that I must confess it,” he answered. ’ ‘Ain’t it? Want me to give you some time with her? Not that I think she’ll tell you anything.
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