But she had loved the man. Her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. ’ Trodger had started towards the stairs, signing to his men to get behind the lady. In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. It was Celeste’s idea. A shudder rippled across his shoulders. He often wanted only to drive with her in the car, both of them staring at the scenery in silence for hours. CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. It is no problem.
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