You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered. Then all the embarrassments of the matter flashed in upon her. 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. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. That was supposed to be Madame Valade. Another glass, Jack.
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