After all, it came to him suddenly as a harsh discovery that she might be in a sense regarded as grownup. "He has robbed him. ” He took up his hat. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. The man muttered something inaudible, and gathered up the reins. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire. This young man did not drink because he sought the false happiness that lured men to the bottle. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy.
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