We don’t consider each other; we needn’t. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. The one nearest to her, which must lead to the library. His shirt also was unbuttoned, and disclosed a neck like that of an ox, and a chest which might have served as a model for a Hercules. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. Sheppard left Mr.
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