"Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. “Go on!” “People talked to you in Paris about us,” she continued, “about Anna the virtuous and Annabel the rake. ’ ‘Gather their bankers are still able to transfer funds,’ remarked Hilary, who had tagged along, apparently determined not to leave Gerald to make even more of a fool of himself. Take my word for it, your troubles are over. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. After quarter of an hour, she followed.
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