Sheppard, with a look, the wildness of which greatly alarmed her companion. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. You can enjoy him and then drink him up. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely. "And had you been the worst scoundrel unhung, I'd have seen to it that you had the same care, the same chance.
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