But McClintock's mind was perceptive, whereas Spurlock's was only dully confused. Mark stayed away from Lucy, which was just as Sheila liked it. On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. 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.
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