Sheppard!" sighed Winifred, as she contemplated the beautiful wreck before her,—"Poor Mrs. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. In the present case it did not matter, as there was no one else within earshot. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. CHAPTER XII. "He's a base, deceitful, tyrannical, hoary-headed libertine—that's what he is.
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