Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. A neighbor stopped by as the day wore on, causing her to duck and cower as he rang the doorbell over and over.
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