The door to the room in question was closed. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. “What you have done. I do not even know his name. He had not noticed the girl particularly when she offered the sandwiches; but in this moment he found her beautiful. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. "Your answer!" cried Sheppard. After all, it came to him suddenly as a harsh discovery that she might be in a sense regarded as grownup. “I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself.
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