Poor little one. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. Sheppard broke from him, and filled the room with her shrieks. “I ought to have done anything! “What’s a man for? “Friendship!” He doubled up his fist, and seemed to contemplate thrusting it through the window. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. The reddish-haired young man contributed allusions to the Hegelian philosophy that momentarily confused the discussion. ” “Did any one see you leave the flat?” he asked.
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