I thought Mr. "You've hit it," answered Sheppard. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. He seemed to be trying to understand something very perplexing and elusive. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. . ’ ‘Can’t say as I’m sorry to hear you say that, missie,’ confessed the sergeant, on a relieved note, as he locked the front door of the mansion and pocketed the key. On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. She spoke with fluent enthusiasm. Fearful that she had given herself away, she sank back down onto her stool. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something. The contest was now carried on between Rowland and Darrell.
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