The Leads 405 XXI. “Why should it matter?” he said. "So, wanton, I have found you!" "Wanton! Why, you infernal liar!" cried Spurlock, striking at the arm. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like! A Frenchie is what you are, and there ain’t no granddaughter Charvill no more. Wait!" He released himself from his aunt's embrace, ran to the trunk and fetched the old coat. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones.
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