“MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told.
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