" Out of the beaten track! thought Spurlock. Each wing had a small cupola; and, in the centre of the pile rose a larger dome, surmounted by a gilded ball and vane. “Cheveney!” she repeated. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. She ran away after she had divined that Gianfrancesco had remarried. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. “It spreads like wildfire. There sprang from that a vague hope that perhaps she might extort a capitulation from her father by a threat to seek that position, and then with overwhelming clearness it came to her that whatever happened she would never be able to tell her father about her debt. You have been to me like a mother, not only a wetnurse.
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