CHAPTER XXIV. Her family are solid West End people, Kensington people. Parbleu, but must she do this all through the house? Evidently she must, for not only could she not properly see the paintings and portraits that hung on the walls, but she was in imminent danger of bumping into the sheet-shrouded furniture. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Taking the wind was her business in life. ” “Call it what you like,” Anna answered. Ah! I have it," he added, after a moment's deliberation; "he's there, I'll be sworn. “That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. Good-bye aunt. Wood's. ‘Kimble, you shouldn’t be here.
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