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Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. If she could have held it in, perhaps the Virgin Mary would have sent her a miracle as reward for her strength. 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. But, after all, what does that matter? He is very much taken with me. Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. Activity in the hall intensified. I was resolved to see you.
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