I knew it. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. Spurling and Austin at their evening meal, with Caliban in attendance. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart.
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