She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. ‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. Jonathan again seized her, when the door was thrown open, and Thames Darrell, followed by Mr. He looked at her, hurt. So here is your chance, Mademoiselle Charvill. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. Neither you nor your mother shall escape me.
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