Again having recourse to the centre-bit,—for Winifred's door was locked,—Jack had nearly cut out a panel, when a sudden outcry was raised in the carpenter's chamber. In all this world there was no sacred ground that said to her: Return! She was of all human beings the most lonely. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. Sheppard. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. "You can render no further service to your poor mother. In the discussion there was the oddest mixture of things that were personal and petty with an idealist devotion that was fine beyond dispute.
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