He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. We have known men who have come here for no other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who have strode into the arena of temptation, waving the—the what is it—the white flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellous facility for the violets of the Parisienne. But not once in these ten years had they borne blossom or fruit. ‘Oh, peste,’ she cried out in distressed tones. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. I did not even know where to write and thank you.
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