" "Shall we do so?" whispered Winifred to her father. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. I had no idea even that she was a friend of yours. A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water. “A volatile temperament—yes, a volatile temperament,” Mr. ‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. Her cheeks were aflame.
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