He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. " "Never," replied Sheppard bitterly. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. Ramage?” he asked. “I have a letter for you, and no end of messages.
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