Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. “What you have said is a ridiculous falsehood,” she declared scornfully. . She would take this one back with her. Instinctively she imitated this action, chilled and a little frightened at the expression of terror that confronted her. She never questioned the motives of the characters; she had neither the ability nor the conceit for that; but she could and often did correct his lapses in colour. ‘Don’t involve me in your lover’s tiff. “—but this cannot be.
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