One studies Nature in order not to be blindly ruled by her. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. " "There's a funny idea in my head. ” The girl received this intimation in silence, but the face that looked down upon the gas fire took an expression of obstinacy that brought out a hitherto latent resemblance between parent and child. He contrasted wonderfully with the empty showing-off of Teddy. "More slang," he said. “I think we are growing sensible,” he said. Her sense of humour could not wholly resist his abnormal gravity.
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