CHAPTER XXVI Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. A pity, en effet, that she dare not truly desire him to rescue her. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother.
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