She went about the familiar home with a clearer and clearer sense of inevitable conclusions. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. It may bring us together again. He was not, in truth, much of a ladies’ man.
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