It was fortunate that by this time Winifred had so far recovered, as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that, under the circumstances, he could have received,—her personal attentions. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. "That's a good story, lad. Manning?” said her aunt. That is what I must do. But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition. There was a recurrence of fever, but nothing alarming.
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