“You have killed me. "Hear me, Jack!" shrieked his mother. "I expect a very extraordinary person to supper, Rachel," he remarked. After occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he thought Jack must have given him the slip. But Spurlock was ever on guard, even when she fussed over his hair. He stared at her stupidly, forgetting to guard against the tactics he had come to expect from her. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. .
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