Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women. “It is too late for visitors,” she remarked. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. They were very nice about it, in memory of your father. I have yet another. Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous. “Is this a concession to Mrs. Besides ——” She stopped short.
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