Paris was full, and it was by no means a retired spot which she had found. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. He would go there. Spurlock slept on. Nothing could exceed the dismay of these personages when they learnt why they had been summoned. He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. “Call me Cathy, John. She recalled him. They’re all wonderful cooks.
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