" "But why didn't you oppose him?" "I had to let him have his way, else he might not have returned safely. 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. "Hear me out," said Jonathan. It is a matter of degree. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came.
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