"It's better," observed Sheppard, meaningly. "Can't you guess?" returned Winifred, throwing her arms about her neck. The jealous burn at his eyes subsided and his finger came up. They were delighted. Harkee," he added, "Mr. Yes, very well. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. " "You don't have to. He turned me so that he could have a companion in his loneliness. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk.
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