" "Not quite, I hope," rejoined Sheppard. Years ago I marked out an intinerary for myself; but the trip never materialized. “Yeah. “Where?” “To that ball. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. She broke this promise when she told me that my mother was this Mary, and not Suzanne Valade at all. When she was quite sure that he was gone she took her sister’s note from the mantelpiece and slowly broke the seal.
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