CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. ’ ‘Where, then?’ Melusine asked again. Cathy chimed. Their future would be glorious; he saw it in their eyes; he saw it in the beauty of their young heads. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. “Kick aht at ‘em!” though, indeed, she went now with Christian meekness, resenting only the thrusting policemen’s hands. The man looked hard at him. A doubt as to your dinner to-morrow would make you miserable to-night. His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage.
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