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. This started a thought moving. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. He looked eager and flushed and troubled. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t. Martha had not been pleased to find her spare one borrowed for that expedition when the major had found her outside the ballroom. A woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay. ‘It is nothing. ” She laughed gaily. . Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. “You see, Vee,” said Mrs.
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