"It's not an offer," continued he, "that I'm likely to make, or you're likely to receive every day in the year. And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. "To me?" gasped Winifred. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means. "Here," repeated her brother.
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