Anna stood looking down upon her sister with grave perturbed face. But finding his hints totally disregarded, he, at length, swaggered up to the table, and thrust in a chair. “You could have a talk to Miss Kitty Brett this afternoon, if you liked. You are my prisoner, murderer. At length, I shall ascertain my name. Run along now; but return in half an hour. Sheppard, you mean, Sir," interrupted his wife, ironically. She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death. “You see you do not know how much of truth there is in his story.
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