Both girls looked pale and listless. It was ended. Can you lend me some stuff?” “You ARE a chap!” said Constance, and warmed only slowly from the idea of dissuasion to the idea of help. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. Sheppard raised her eyes, and fixed them upon her interrogator. “I have noticed,” he said, “that you seem to delight in taking a topsy-turvy view of life.
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