Soon the trunk, portmanteau and hat box were ready. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. The knowledge breathed into her heart a satisfying warmth. It seemed to them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating existence. But men of the Spurlock type, who walk straight, who are unobtrusive and intensely pale, they break swiftly and inexplicably. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time.
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