“My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. It was open. At length, she suddenly started to her feet; and before Winifred could prevent her, staggered up to Thames. It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. Old London Bridge (the grandsire of the present erection) was supported on nineteen arches, each of which Would a Rialto make for depth and height! The arches stood upon enormous piers; the piers on starlings, or jetties, built far out into the river to break the force of the tide. No one will ever love you as I love you now. It is a plain case of alcoholic stupor. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. She would not be driven in by this persistent, sneaking aggression.
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