Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. But Miss Stanley took no notice of these things. She was, she guessed, close to the library. Sheppard. "My child!" he groaned faintly. " "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. I don’t. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest.
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