" "Sir!" exclaimed Winifred. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. “I loathe afternoon concerts, and——” She was really like her sister he thought, impressed for a moment by the soft brilliancy of her smile. The venturous climber gazed for a moment at the assemblage beneath, to ascertain that he was not discovered; and, having satisfied himself in this particular, he stepped out more boldly. He was safe, out of the beaten track, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack.
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