That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. “Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up. " "Robbed him!" screamed the widow. He kept that, but the rest. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. He became ugly and monstrous, dunning her, threatening her, assailing her. He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly hear. “Some of them seem to be having an awfully good time too. And the door was suddenly thrown open, and the two janizaries felled to the ground by the strong arm of the stalwart robber. To—to find myself. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. Sheppard. .
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