The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. Plote was sleeping or deaf. Easy enough. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. Gosse must now fight with his back to the altar, and a dais at his heels. "But first let us secure Sheppard. Perhaps if I had watched over her more closely, things would have been different. I ought to be able to think things out.
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