And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. “I wish this hadn’t turned up to-day of all days. “Never mind, old chap,” he declared. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes. This discovery made, I hastened back to London to offer you my hand, but found you had married in the mean time a smock-faced, smooth-tongued carpenter named Sheppard. Looking for something, or someone, probably. " The stranger said nothing, but hastily brushed away a tear.
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