“What a very remarkable thing it is,” he observed, applying to his snuff-box, “that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,”—­Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,—­“should turn out to be alive after all.  Strange, I shouldn’t know him when he called on me.”

“It is strange,” replied Winifred, artlessly. “I knew him at once.”

“Of course,” rejoined Kneebone, a little maliciously, “but that’s easily accounted for.  May I be permitted, as a very old and very dear friend of your lamented parent, whose loss I shall ever deplore, to ask you one question?”

“Undoubtedly,” replied Winifred.

“And you will answer it frankly?”

“Certainly.”

“Now for it,” thought the woollen-draper, “I shall, at least, ascertain how the land lies.—­Well, then, my dear,” he added aloud, “do you still entertain the strong attachment you did to Captain Darrell?”

Winifred’s cheeks glowed with blushes, and fixing her eyes, which flashed with resentment, upon the questioner, she said: 

“I have promised to answer your question, and I will do so.  I love him as a brother.”

“Only as a brother?” persisted Kneebone.

If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper.

“If you knew how much importance I attach to your answer,” he continued passionately, “you would not refuse me one.  Were Captain Darrell to offer you his hand, would you accept it?”

“Your impertinence deserves very different treatment, Sir,” said Winifred; “but, to put an end to this annoyance, I will tell you—­I would not.”

“And why not?” asked Kneebone, eagerly.

“I will not submit to be thus interrogated,” said Winifred, angrily.

“In the name of your lamented parent, whose memory I shall for ever revere, I implore you to answer me,” urged Kneebone, “why—­why would you not accept him?”

“Because our positions are different,” replied Winifred, who could not resist this appeal to her feelings.

“You are a paragon of prudence and discretion,” rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers.  “Disparity of rank is ever productive of unhappiness in the married state.  When Captain Darrell’s birth is ascertained, I’ve no doubt he’ll turn out a nobleman’s son.  At least, I hope so for his sake as well as my own,” he added, mentally.  “He has quite the air of one.  And now, my angel, that I am acquainted with your sentiments on this subject, I shall readily fulfil a promise which I made to your lamented parent, whose loss I shall ever deplore.”

“A promise to my mother?” said Winifred, unsuspiciously.

“Yes, my angel, to her—­rest her soul!  She extorted it from me, and bound me by a solemn oath to fulfil it.”

“Oh! name it.”

“You are a party concerned.  Promise me that you will not disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of us ever revere.  Promise me.”