Dinner was quite uneventful. ” She said. ” “I am afraid I have not been very nice,” she said sadly. I do not think you quite understand my ideals or what is becoming as between father and daughter. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. 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. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. But I wrapped it in that nun’s gear you give me. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount.
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