"Miss Enschede was born on an island in the South Seas. Jonathan Wild?" asked the attendant, in great trepidation. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. 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. . The girl was flushed with excitement, bright-eyed, and braced for a struggle; her aunt had never seen her looking so fine or so pretty. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. “Number 13, please, cabman. That’s— that’s my private life.
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