There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. "See her I will. ‘I never met a rat what wandered about the place with a lantern, I didn’t,’ grumbled the old lodgekeeper aggrievedly. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. ” “Was he divorced, do you mean?” “No, but he got himself mixed up in a divorce case. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred.
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