Sheppard superior to her station. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. Taking hold of the hilt of his own foil, he drew it forth. She was never violent when angry: she became as calm and baffling as the sea in doldrums. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. An influence of this description appeared to be exerted on the present occasion.
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