A pretty name for a pretty girl. Spurling, and her now accepted suitor, resumed their seats. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said. So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. He did not stagger in the least. Do you think that it makes for happiness to force oneself into the extravagant belief that love is the only thing in the world worth having, and to sacrifice for it independence, self-respect, one’s whole scheme of life. He only laughed his defiance.
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