Tom Murdock, the reader knows, had returned, but he had not as yet seen Winny Cavana.
Aunt Bertha had brought her as a birthday gift for Winny from Paris.
He knew that Winny Cavana's holiday bonnet was trimmed with blue, and thought it not unlikely that Murdock knew it also.
Winny asked, looking on half interestedly, half contemptuously.
Winny had advised it, and he had grown dependent on her judgment.
"That is so," said Winny, at last, speaking slowly and admiringly.
He had not time, however, to cut the cords by which Winny was bound.
Winny is such an innocent little donkey, so quaint and matter-of-factish.
Winny was a child; that was all that could be said of her; and he, he was a man, grown up suddenly in a single night.
Benjie understood quite enough to make him Winny's slave for life.