“No, Mr. Wood, I forget nothing. I've an excellent memory, thank God! And I perfectly remember that everybody was drowned upon that occasion—except yourself and the child!”
“My love you're beside yourself—”
“I was beside myself to take charge of your—”
“Mother?” interposed Winifred.
“It's of no use,” observed Thames quietly, but with a look that chilled the little damsel's heart;—“my resolution is taken.”
“You at least appear to forget that Mr. Kneebone is coming, my dear,” ventured Mr. Wood.
“Good gracious! so I do,” exclaimed his amiable consort. “But you do agitate me so much. Come into the parlour, Winifred, and dry your eyes directly, or I'll send you to bed. Mr. Wood, I desire you'll put on your best things, and join us as soon as possible. Thames, you needn't tidy yourself, as you've hurt your arm. Mr. Kneebone will excuse you. Dear me! if there isn't his knock. Oh! I'm in such a fluster!”
Upon which, she snatched up her fan, cast a look into the glass, smoothed down her scarf, threw a soft expression into her features, and led the way into the next room, whither she was followed by her daughter and Thames Darrell.