’ ‘He let them go?’ asked Miss Froxfield incredulously. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. ’ ‘Poor little devil,’ said Gerald, genuinely sorry for her. Sheppard, distractedly. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. "Some one must have assisted him. Wait a little; rest. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted.
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