"Have you told him so?" she inquired, reproachfully. "No; but I shall, before he retires to rest."
"Then you will stay!" she cried, clapping her hands joyfully, "for I'm sure he won't part with you. Oh! thank you—thank you! I'm so happy!"
"Stop, Winny!" he answered, gravely; "I haven't promised yet."
"But you will,—won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face.
Unable to withstand this appeal, Thames gave the required promise, adding,—"Oh! Winny, I wish Mr. Wood had been my father, as well as yours."
"So do I!" she cried; "for then you would have been really my brother. No, I don't, either; because——"
"Well, Winny?"
"I don't know what I was going to say," she added, in some confusion; "only I'm sorry you were born a gentleman."
"Perhaps, I wasn't," returned Thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of Jonathan Wild's foul insinuation crossed him. "But never mind who, or what I am. Give me this picture. I'll keep it for your sake."
"I'll give you something better worth keeping," she answered, detaching the ornament from her neck, and presenting it to him; "this contains a lock of my hair, and may remind you sometimes of your little sister. As to the picture, I'll keep it myself, though, if you do go I shall need no memorial of you. I'd a good many things to say to you, besides—but you've put them all out of my head."