She began to tremble violently. Prudence shook her head. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. Then he stepped briskly to his feet and bent over the wounded man. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. Her head ached with a hollow pain. “I think as I feel in a good humour it must be the latter. She mentally reprimanded herself to alter her own visage so as not to appear depraved. “Oh, we are also under the spell,” he declared, “but I think that we are here mainly because it is cheap. \" He said, as he threw his trash into the can on the way out. “No,” she answered, reluctantly.
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