The action did not pass unnoticed by Sheppard. Mr. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room.
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