There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. “I had a visit from Sir John in my rooms,” she said. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. Before she passed out she turned and faced Sir John. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. "He hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me I shall never see him again!" When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief.
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