Spurlock's vision was oddly of the past. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. She was curious to know why he had boarded a dingy train instead of hailing a cab or his own private chauffeur like the others in expensive suits were doing. He too, when she had disappeared, called a carriage. " "So do I!" she cried; "for then you would have been really my brother.
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