For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail. And he liked her. Breakfast, too, was an impossible occasion. There must be ways of getting rid of him. Her pa was only the smithy. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. ” He looked at her, his eyes illuminated by the glow of the dashboard.
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