An ordinary type, of course—” Mrs. " "All right. "It's better," observed Sheppard, meaningly. Or else he was indeed obsessed. He thanked God for this talent of his. “Are you free tomorrow? Should I call?” He asked. She knew, too, she must not hesitate. She could hardly speak to me; she insisted relentlessly upon a separation. She observed a man walking on the opposite side of the way and looking toward her. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. She was nearly too giddy still to answer him. If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart.
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