" "You're a noble-hearted little fellow, Thames," rejoined Wood, casting a look of pride and affection at his adopted son, whose head he gently patted; "and give promise of a glorious manhood. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. Wood entered the room, followed by Thames. His complexion was as blue as a sailor's jacket, and though Mr. Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee. S. If you’ll forgive my saying that, and implying what goes with it.
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