“Mr. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. He saw it in book-covers, on the stage. "Lady Trafford would not have thus condemned me!" cried Thames. Then she went up-stairs again, dressed herself carefully for town, put on her most businesslike-looking hat, and with a wave of emotion she found it hard to control, walked down to catch the 3.
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