“Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. Sheppard returned no answer. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. Her mother…. “For luck. ’ That arrested her. . ’ ‘Certainly he is not a friend,’ Melusine agreed, ‘but he has gone, after all. ‘And I suppose I shall be obliged to endure another nonsensical tale about your husband.
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