The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. We ourselves have been similarly circumstanced. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. “I don’t think she will,” she said. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed.
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