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No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. His mother's scream seemed again to ring in his ears, and he was so deeply affected that, fearful of exciting attention, he was about to quit the sacred edifice, when he was stopped by the entrance of Thames, who looked pale as death, with Winifred leaning on his arm. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes.
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