" And he led the way to an inner room, in the middle of which stood a table, covered with a large white cloth. Burn your palette and your easel. He took Diane out. Sheppard reached the debtor's garrison. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing. On the present occasion, he appeared to have bestowed more than ordinary attention on his toilette.
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