Already she knew that she was overstaying her welcome. "It's better," observed Sheppard, meaningly. Her nerves were shattered, her senses dazed by this unexpected shock. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. . Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. . ’ She drew a heavy breath.
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