Sheppard raised her eyes, and fixed them upon her interrogator. While waiting for his coming she had stated her present and future relations with him with what had seemed to her the most satisfactory lucidity and completeness. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. "Will you write," asked the doctor, "and tell me how you are getting along?" "Oh, yes!" "The last advice I can give you is this: excite his imagination; get him started with his writing. " "You flatter me," smiled Sir James.
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