"The gentleman under the table," she answered. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. He and her father shook hands manfully. Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. The clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds.
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