His hand shook so violently that he dropped the handkerchief; and he let it lie on the floor because he dared not stoop. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. She took the initiative and guided his fingers inside her and bore down. Tears began to stream from her cheeks. Then, naturally, I went on talking. Turning quickly round, in the hope of discovering the thief, he was no less surprised than distressed—for in spite of his faults, the woollen-draper was a good-natured fellow—to perceive Jack Sheppard in custody. He came in apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?” note gone; and once he asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively, “How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his old professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray trousers Ann Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most becoming roll. The latter has, since, been induced to unite herself to Sir Cecil, on terms originating with her brother, and which, however strange and unprecedented, were acquiesced in by the suitor. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion.
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