"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. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. He woke up with a start and the alarm clock read 4:46 P.
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