"The key," replied the widow. He refrained from pointing out that the case would be exactly the same if she was not a lady. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. You know—I worship you. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own. Anna rose a few minutes before the general company. Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. . “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked.
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