Again having recourse to the centre-bit,—for Winifred's door was locked,—Jack had nearly cut out a panel, when a sudden outcry was raised in the carpenter's chamber. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Her head swam. " "You astonish me," said the stranger, in a voice full of emotion. “Tell him to drive—anywhere,” she exclaimed. But for perfect satisfaction, he must take a peek into the bedroom. By rights I ought to have arrested her days ago. Afterward her brother Roddy, also strange in velveteen, feeling rather than knowing of this relationship, punched this Adonis’s head. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. She searched for it for many days that stretched into weeks before she gave up. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire.
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