Of this boy she had only caught a glimpse;—but that glimpse was sufficient to satisfy her it was her son,—and, if she could have questioned her own instinctive love, she could not question her antipathy, when she beheld, partly concealed by a pillar immediately in the rear of the woollen-draper, the dark figure and truculent features of Jonathan Wild. Earles said, rubbing his hands together, “by post. She loved her mother Marina more than any other thing in the world and could not bear to speak to her for a fortnight after being told her fate. She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. “You know very well that she is selfish and pleasure-loving to the backbone.
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