She opened and read it at once. Sheppard. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. He waved a hand toward the sea. It fell to the ground and smoked ominously. Montague Hill is. Sheppard, you mean, Sir," interrupted his wife, ironically. Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you. "Yes, your son, Madam. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. The lady grasped it more firmly and turned it upon Hilary. His expression became pained.
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