Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. But she did not listen long; she wanted to talk. Gianfrancesco took her that night gently, for which she was glad. Yet an indiscriminating, wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions. "I thought it best that you should imagine him. "Why? Because I love her! Because I loved her at the start, but was too big a fool to know it!" His own astonishment was quite equal to McClintock's. "Ah! but," said I, "there's a great deal in being hanged. ” “It was an inspiration—your speaking to him?” “I felt impudent.
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