If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. Her heartbeat quickened. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. They always get back together. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. Then she burst into a peal of laughter. Wood, who had recovered her good humour, quitted the room she bestowed a hearty embrace on Thames, and she told him laughingly, that she would "defer all she had to propose to him until to-morrow.
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