By this I knew she had not forgotten that look of hate on my mother's
face.

She put her hand on the latch and found that the door was now
unlocked.

'But where is the fearful part of it, Winifred?' I said. 'I am not a
cannibal.'

'You ought to marry a great English lady, dear, and I'm only a poor
girl; you seem to forget all about that, you silly fond boy. You
forget I'm only a poor girl--just Winifred,' she continued.

'Just Winifred,' I said, taking her hand and preventing her from
lifting the latch.

'I've lived,' said she, 'in a little cottage like this with my aunt
and Miss Dalrymple and done everything.'

'Everything's a big word, Winifred. What may everything include in
your case?'

'Include!' said Winifred; 'oh, everything, housekeeping and--'

'Housekeeping!' said I. 'Racing the winds with Rhona Boswell and
other Gypsy children up and down Snowdon--that's been _your_
housekeeping.'

'Cooking,' said Winifred, maintaining her point.