” She was silent, and in the gloom of the dimly lit apartment he could not see her face. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night. The major might not indulge in this sort of flirtation in the ordinary way, but he had seen enough among his army colleagues to know just how to go about it. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. The ladies can't sleep in their beds for him; and as to the men, they daren't go to bed at all. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me.
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