Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. “I have not the least idea who he is. Her gratitude swelled within her. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands. Wood fancied he recognised. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. She longed to allow him to kiss her again, to touch her again. It looks so French to be affectionate. You’d better not have all the money on you; you had better open a small account in the postoffice and draw it out a fiver at a time. Earles said persuasively. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them.
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