They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. "It was that song that put it into my head to cut my name on the beam. They sat in the windowed booth at the restaurant across from each other. I wonder,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “whether you ever realize how young you are. I don't believe he is much past forty. . ” Lucy replied. " "I see. A doubt as to your dinner to-morrow would make you miserable to-night. To have written a short story in a week was rather a remarkable feat. Sheppard, disregarding the taunt, "come away.
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