The Night-Cellar XVIII. “Too much sensibility and too cold a heart. She was my first love. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. Sheppard; and, as soon as he could command his feelings, which were considerably excited by the mention of her distresses, he squeezed her hand warmly, bestowed a hearty execration upon his own inhumanity, and swore he would neither separate her from her child, nor suffer any one else to separate them. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. “I believe it is. Ann Veronica tried to seem absolutely unconcerned. He would pull this young fellow back; but later he knew that he would have to fight the boy's lack of will to live. But it was clear she was in no mood for Teddys. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. Upstairs, in the little dressing-room, the panel was opened by means of tugging a small candlesconce in the wall.
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