" CHAPTER V. It was a simple wish. His face brightened at the sight of her, and he came toward her. “I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself—pray don’t look like that. "Anywhere," he said in answer to the manager's query. "Don't disturb yourself," continued the other, nowise disconcerted by the rebuke. Then came the great day. Everything had stayed the same during the centuries. Something in her tone made him look up. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. No matter what they do, always someone to bolster them up, to lend them money, and to coddle them. The eminent painter had handsome, expressive features, an aquiline nose, and a good deal of dignity in his manner. As pretty as its owner. A girl of fifteen or sixteen gave her a handbill that she regarded as a tract until she saw “Votes for Women” at the top. “Lord!” she said.
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