Heaven alone knows why. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland. Lucy sighed, finding it odd to switch roles as she had over the past weeks. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. You go cheer him up. "Granted it were as you say, Jack," said Wild;—"and I sha'n't take the trouble to contradict you—the estates would be yours hereafter. ’ She waved towards a handy table to one side which was piled high with so many volumes, it looked in imminent danger of crashing to the floor. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. ” Her elation teetered in mid-air for a second, then began to flutter down around her like a badly-built house of cards. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. "Ah! Quilt Arnold, my man, is it you? By the powers! I'm glad to see you. Brown. But if that can possibly be done I want it to be done. He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her.
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