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Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. “Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us. And here you are!” Her aunt opened all the fingers of her gloved hand in a rhetorical gesture. He had done this a dozen times on the way from his office. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. Since she was only seventeen when she had them, she didn’t deal with it very well.
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