” “It isn’t necessary,” they both declared breathlessly. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. I tried. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. "A secret is too valuable a commodity to be thrown away. Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. "I forbid you to do that. Do you expect me, I wonder.
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