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Updated: June 7, 2025
Monsieur Profond, in fact, made the mood too plain in a country which decently veiled such realities. When Fleur, after her hurried return from Robin Hill, came down to dinner that evening, the mood was standing at the window of Winifred's little drawing-room, looking out into Green Street, with an air of seeing nothing in it.
But they have too much mercy to call the first day. Mr. Kendal looked as if his instinct were drawing him study-wards, but Albinia hung on his arm, and made him come into the garden. Though devoid of Winifred's gardening tastes, she was dismayed at the untended look of the flower-beds.
A man in a grey top hat, grey-bearded, with thin brown, folded cheeks, and a certain elegance of posture, sat there with a woman in a lawn-coloured frock, whose dark eyes were fixed on himself. Soames looked quickly at his feet. How funnily feet moved, one after the other like that! Winifred's voice said in his ear: "Jolyon looks very ill; but he always had style.
Holywell grew to have a fascination for me, and in the following spring I left the fishing-inn beneath Snowdon, and took rooms in this interesting old town. One day, near the rivulet that runs from St. Winifred's Well, I suddenly encountered Sinfi Lovell. 'Sinfi, I said, 'she's dead, she's surely dead. 'I tell ye, brother, she ain't got to die! said Sinfi, as she came and stood beside me.
The country is mountainous, and full of iron and lead works; and here they begin to differ from the English both in language and dress. From Flint, along the seaside, in three hours I arrived at the famous cold bath called St. Winifred's Well; and the town from thence called Holywell is a pretty large well-built village, in the middle of a grove, in a bottom between, two hills.
But it so happened that the boisterous weather of the last few days had cast away a schooner at a place some five miles from Saint Winifred's, and Walter Evson had walked with Charlie to see the wreck, and was returning along the cliff.
When he was born, Winifred, in the heyday of spirits, and the craving for distinction, had determined that her children should have names such as no others had ever had. It so happened that Dartie, dining with him a week after the birth of his son and heir, had mentioned this aspiration of Winifred's. "Call him Cato," said George, "it'll be damned piquant!"
He had never succeeded in getting Win to serve him, but he was as free to look at her as a cat is free to look at a king. Apart, however, from telling glances which Miss Child never seemed to see, Mr. Logan appeared quite satisfied with the attentions of Miss Leavitt or Sadie Kirk, who had waited upon him once or twice when Lily was not available. Suddenly an idea flashed into Winifred's head.
For a moment Ruth hesitated, but Winifred's friendly smile encouraged her and she stood up. She did not look at the group of girls sitting about under the trees; she looked straight over their heads at the river, and began to speak, beginning her story with the discovery that the candy had disappeared.
"There'll be nothing about those pearls, will there?" The little tufted white tails of Winifred's muff began to shiver. "Oh, no," she said, "it'll be quite harmless to-day. Your grandmother wanted to come too, but I wouldn't let her. I thought you could take care of me. You look so nice, Val. Just pull your coat collar up a little more at the back that's right." "If they bully you...." began Val.
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