But a woman’s life is all chance. “I do not like to seem inhospitable, Anna,” she said hesitatingly. Melusine made no reply. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. As she started, rearing up her head, a hand stole about her mouth and closed down hard. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything. “Who can tell?” she said. Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical) welcomed the diversion.
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