He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books. She was now permitted freely to study the face. When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her. He lowered himself on to her. 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.
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