“I wonder,” she said, “how much you care. She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who cared to listen, to be so very particular. ” She spoke rather quickly, because she found her father’s question the most awkward she had ever had to answer in her life. But she veiled her feelings. “Bless you, sweetheart. Spurlock: 'tis Roundhead, sure enough. I must bless him before I die. At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother. He found the door ajar, and, to his surprise, perceived little Winifred seated at a table, busily engaged in tracing some design upon a sheet of paper. Petite build, like herself.
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