Every man in her life had betrayed her one way or another. He put his arms around her in a circular embrace. She remained standing stiffly, unable even to move. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. But something instinctive prevented that, and with the finest resolve not to be “silly” and prudish she found that whenever he became at all bold in this matter she became severely scientific and impersonal, almost entomological indeed, in her method; she killed every remark as he made it and pinned it out for examination. "No," answered Jack, approaching her, "though, if I had done so, he would have merited his fate.
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