"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. Practically. Sheppard, averting her face to hide her tears. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. Chapter Two ‘Our French friends are beginning to form quite a little coterie,’ remarked Gerald, covertly studying the group gathered in an alcove at the other side of Lady Bicknacre’s ballroom. “No I’m not, John. . E. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. Yes.
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