A slender young man, wearing glasses, appeared from the shadow of the nearest van. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. He was ruffled, and his ears were red, no doubt from some adjacent controversy. "You do love me?" "God knows how much!" Suddenly he laid his head on her shoulder. Old thoughts, old feelings, old faces, and old scenes have returned to me, and I have fancied myself happy,—as happy as I am now. I will dedicate my books to you. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. Sheppard, and neither deserve nor desire your thanks.
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