" "Not necessarily. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station. I’m not half smart enough for the West End. Her canines had receded, but were still 166 prominent. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence. Oh, Heavens; that I should have ever indulged a hope of happiness while that terrible man lives!" "Compose yourself, Joan," said Wood; "all will yet be well. It suited him to dampen the spirits of any who sought to impose upon him, as these relics of the loathed family of Valade seemed like to do. Sheppard returned no answer.
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