Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. Wood could not avoid making a slight shuffling sound. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. Opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults —searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately. ‘Never would he have gone to England. And I'll have supper with you. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave.
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