"Yes; I know I look it," said O'Higgins, amiably. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. “Martin, I don’t know what to say. "Heaven grant you may have been wrongly informed with respect to Thames!" exclaimed Winifred; "but, I beseech you, on no account to mention what you have told me to my poor father. My profession has hardened me. "I shall want a bottle or two of sack, and a flask of usquebaugh. Horrible details recurred to her. I keep it for my own drinking," he added in a lower tone. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections.
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