If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. Then he lifted the black cloak-like garment from the floor. . She stepped backwards. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. ’ He gestured towards the fulminating general.
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