“She has been to my flat before. You truly are your mother’s, Lucia. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. Spurlock bent his head to his knees. She made me over. I dare not reflect upon the effect that her son's fate,—if the efforts to save him are ineffectual,—may have upon her enfeebled frame, and still worse upon her mind. You will go out at once, if you please. I've often seen them storming the Carnegie Hall stage. CHAPTER XV.
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