“Very well,” said her father. "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. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. “I suppose you’re like the rest of them. Of course Nicholas was bound to give her a French name. ‘I have an excellent excuse to remain comfortably ensconced in my parlour here, able to indulge in my favourite pastime. "Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. She was a lovely girl, attired in deep mourning, and having an expression of profound sorrow on her charming features.
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