By the time I had recovered myself she had gone. Sheppard!" sighed Winifred, as she contemplated the beautiful wreck before her,—"Poor Mrs. ‘Champion?’ ‘The lad you saw following her. Least of all myself. What is your father's business?" The question was an impertinence, but Ruth was not aware of that. She shook them off of one foot. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness.
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