There was a coffee equipage on the table, and some sandwiches, and the fire had been recently made up. Playing became a way of escape. Wherein she differed but little from her young sisters. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. She knew that to expect more now was like anticipating a gold-mine in the garden. She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. Then for the first time she was conscious of an unaccountable and terrifying sensation. “We always have things out with OUR father, poor dear!” said Hetty.
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