"A great deal!" replied Thames. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. But ere the words could find utterance, her maternal tenderness overcame her indignation; and, sinking upon her knees, she extended her arms over her child. “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. . He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. I did not have to dig deep in my imagination to create the status-obsessed suburban environment of Lucy’s modern milieu. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. "To-morrow I will take you to him. ’. I’ll walk over there once I change clothes.
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