Michelle walked towards the sloping Victorian stairs. Wood laughed louder than ever. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. "What is this?" she wanted to know. Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood. Not one of them but bore the marks of having been engaged in a recent and severe conflict. "Somebody ought to get hold of that young man," said Prudence, grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. See paragraph 1. The door opened.
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