“Yes,” she said, very faintly. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. His head bent down, intent on kissing her underneath the showerhead. In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire. The place for reading. He frowned. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. "Stay!" said Jonathan, aiding his descent; "you had better take my lantern. “Earning a salary!” “You’re like a Princess in Exile!” he repeated, overruling her. ’ ‘It’s immaterial, in any event,’ Roding put in.
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