"It's like enough, I dare say," rejoined Sheppard. The Night-Cellar XVIII. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. “I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. “Never. There was no one else in the doorway. But it was extraordinary what seemingly irrelevant things could restore her to the thought of Capes again. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. ‘And it is perhaps not so necessary that I do so, because Joan has told me of another who may like to say I am the daughter of Mary Remenham.
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