It was not the arrival of the guests, but merely the maid moving about in the hall. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. ‘This from a man who calls himself my friend. Sheppard, somewhat alarmed by this preamble. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically. If I’m late again I’ll have to serve another detention!” She excused herself, hoping it was not too obvious she was running away. “Don’t you think I ought to?” she asked, very submissively.
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