That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. ‘Would it so? What sort of a girl is she, then?’ ‘She’s a consummate devil,’ Gerald declared roundly. She felt that she was not alone. Listen to me, Winifred. ‘I know her, ma’am, but I know next to nothing of her story. We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our shares—long after Thames Darrell is forgotten—ha! ha! A third of your estate I accept. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. It was just as easy to pretend she was watching one when she was actually watching the other. He succeeded so well that they were almost in Montague Street before Anna stopped short. “A serious question. ” She controlled a sob.
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