‘No one is here, Melusine, except you and I. He then made off. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. At any rate she must see me. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. 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. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. Don’t you care for Nigel at all?” Anna was silent for a moment or two.
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