Poor little one. After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. The young man had knocked over the siphon. She had told Emile. E. “What were you doing outside Miss Pellissier’s flat to-night? You were looking at her windows.
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