‘Now then, Gerald, out with it. "I haven't offended you?"—not contritely but curiously. But still you have told me of my real mother when I thought it was Suzanne Valade. Wood, who had recovered her good humour, quitted the room she bestowed a hearty embrace on Thames, and she told him laughingly, that she would "defer all she had to propose to him until to-morrow. ’ He laughed. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years.
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