"My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. ’ Gerald eyed her with interest. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. The youth with the hair brushed back and the spectacled Scotchman joined in the fray for and against the women’s vote. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her.
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