One day she awoke and he was cavorting about underneath the covers. " "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. There one comes to a relationship that Mr. " "Mother be——!" returned Jack. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious.
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