He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. Her situation was perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and sympathetic, and provocative of discussion. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. "I don't know what I think," Wood answered sulkily; and he bent his eyes upon the water, as if he wished to avert his attention forcibly from the scene. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses.
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