" "Shall we do so?" whispered Winifred to her father. The thing rankled in her mind night and day. . Winter came at the manor. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. “I don’t think our engagement can go on,” she plunged, and felt exactly that loss of breath that comes with a dive into icy water. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. She felt that perhaps, in her desire to play an adequate part in the conversation, she had talked rather more freely than she ought to have done, and given him a wrong impression of herself.
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