countenance, which, up to this moment, had worn a smiling and satisfied
expression. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of
India-rubber, and exclaiming,--"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half
handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted
into the room.

"Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the
drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her
fingers.

"I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her
little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!"

"I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper
from her grasp.

"Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried.

But her request was unheeded. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out
its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself.

"I've a good mind not to speak to you again, Sir!" cried Winifred, with
difficulty repressing a tear of vexation; "you've acted unfairly."

"I feel I have, dear Winny!" replied Thames, abashed at his own
rudeness; "my conduct is inexcusable."

"I'll excuse it nevertheless," returned the little damsel,
affectionately extending her hand to him.