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’ Lucy was silent for a space, once again wearing that inscrutable expression. “I’m next, Mr. I want to leave it for ever. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. ‘But tell me this instead. “It may be true, but it isn’t quite what I have in mind. But then he began to take steps, and, at last, strides to something more and more like predominance. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. Anna went out. Lucy looked at her reflection with a measure of awe.

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