She would never return to her father; that resolution was final. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. "Where am I to take it to?" asked Sheppard. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments. There she sought and at last found 107A, one of those heterogeneous piles of offices which occupy the eastern side of the lane.
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