Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. 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. ’ She bit her lip, and then turning her face away, emitted another sigh. ” “Upon my word,” he declared, “you are right. Marvel, in a tone intended to be consolatory.
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