‘Yes, but quite my own fault. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. ‘Where is Gérard?’ ‘Out of town,’ Hilary said briefly. But I wanted to find out more, partly so I could share it with him. Now I require it, only that I may stop this pig from ruining all. 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. The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along Holborn.
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