"So, wanton, I have found you!" "Wanton! Why, you infernal liar!" cried Spurlock, striking at the arm. He had nothing more to say either to her or to Spurlock. She smiled and started for the stairs without reply. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. To be sure, he was attentive, respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless camaraderie of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hang if all the world knew it. “I remember when you walked me home.
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