“It’s a period of crude views and crude work,” said Mr. Sheppard, that I fear any further anxiety might prove fatal to him. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. Well one night, some of us saw him, or thought we saw him, at a café dining with ‘Alcide,’—as a matter of fact, it seems that it was her sister. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. There are some papers I have to look through to-night—important papers. He said nothing, even though it was not raining. I WAS talking to him before I saw his name on the card beside the row of microscopes. As pretty as its owner.
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