“Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. “This is all madness,” she declared wearily. Tell him the truth, Annabel. Sheppard. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. She had tasted freedom now, and so far she had not felt the need of protection. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. Then suddenly the curtain would fall. "Of course," responded the widow, heaving a deep sigh. His tone was kind and sympathetic.
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