I was stupid—stupid and impulsive beyond measure to burst upon you in this way. Sheppard remained dissolved in tears. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. “The white unaggressive woman who corrects and nurses and serves, and is worshipped and betrayed—the martyr-queen of men, the white mother. ‘Stay, Saling!’ The butler halted, looking round enquiringly. You’re not to go. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. Something unpardonable is laid to my charge. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges.
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