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The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. Ascertaining that it was Sheppard of whom this concourse was in pursuit, the two horsemen leapt the hedge, and were presently close upon him. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. NOW it’s just as though you had grown up suddenly. She took her hat from the peg in the corner and began to put it on. ” She said fretfully. She felt terribly modern, even sporty as the magazines declared you should be.
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