Sheppard; "most fortunate for me. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. He walked through a wide open archway, curtained with deep-blue curtains, into the apartment that served as a reception-room. The person caught hold of his arm, and, in spite of his efforts to disengage himself, detained him. There is no Heaven for your mother. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely.
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