‘Which is why I feel sure he will utterly repulse the girl, even if she is his granddaughter. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. “You must tell me the truth, please. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart.
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