"Yes, indeed: he thought her the most beautiful creature in the world."
"I'm glad of that," Winifred said; and, in that fashion of hers which so constantly reminded me of her father, she turned away from the subject.
On Saturday morning early we were on board the great steamer, in all the bustle of departure; and after a pleasant voyage we arrived at Liverpool on schedule time, as the guidebooks say, and installed ourselves for the night at a comfortable hotel. Next day we set forth to see whatever this smoky city of industry has to show. We were passing along one of the smokiest and narrowest of streets when Winifred suddenly pulled my arm.
"Did you see him?" she cried excitedly.
"Who?" I inquired, though I partly guessed—being fully prepared to see Roderick O'Byrne in Liverpool.
Winifred touched the ring on her finger to show whom she meant.
"It may have been only a chance resemblance," I observed evasively.
"It was he," she declared decisively, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. "Oh, I am so glad!" she went on. "We must find him. I want to thank him for the ring."
"It will be impossible to find him in this crowd," I answered.
She pointed to a shop.