She followed the official back into his room. Across that world was written in letters of light, “Endowment of Motherhood. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. “No doubt about that,” Meddoes continued. Sheppard's good health, and success to him!" Baptist's toast was received with loud applause, and, as he sat down amid the cheers of the company, and a universal clatter of mugs and glasses, the widow's view was no longer obstructed. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. A creeping numbness invaded her. He removed his cigarette from his lips and waved it gently in the air. There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper. The horse-soldiers wheeled round and cleared a path: the foot closed in upon the cart. “Dear John,” she whispered.
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