The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. " "Dear mother, don't say so," returned Winifred. "I should never have acted as I did," rejoined Sheppard, bitterly; "if Mrs. ” For a fraction of a second the two young men hesitated.
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