At any rate, he began to deliberately personate him. I know something about men. He liked to be near me, he liked to be near any female, especially a young female. Wood obeyed. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. I want to know—just as much as I can. But once he had steered the lady down the hall and along a passage to a window seat at the end, he abandoned the subject of society. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her.
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