"Let him remain," interposed Trenchard. “Pretend,” he said, “that all I have said hasn’t been said. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. Sheppard. But from the first her rather old-fashioned conception of life had jarred with the suburban atmosphere, the High School spirit and the memories of the light and little Mrs. He’s dead. “Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers.
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