"Your son's father was a thief; and Jonathan Wild (unless I'm misinformed,) was his friend,—so it's not unnatural he should show some partiality towards Jack. ‘Where was I? Oh yes. He swung it open and then used his body to pin her against her seat. He saw what he had done only as it related to Ruth. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. Of this boy she had only caught a glimpse;—but that glimpse was sufficient to satisfy her it was her son,—and, if she could have questioned her own instinctive love, she could not question her antipathy, when she beheld, partly concealed by a pillar immediately in the rear of the woollen-draper, the dark figure and truculent features of Jonathan Wild. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. “Do you know,” she said, “that every one is remarking how ill you look. The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor.
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