What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child—an innocent child. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. “I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. There are so many girls nowadays who are quite unpresentable at tea, with their untrimmed laughs, their awful dispositions of their legs when they sit down, their slangy disrespect; they no longer smoke, it is true, like the girls of the eighties and nineties, nevertheless to a fine intelligence they have the flavor of tobacco. Sheppard, distractedly. Young noblemen ought to be indulged in their frolics.
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