Why else?’ Gerald stared at her blankly. “Your father is in the study and wishes to speak to you. Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. Frequently he would take up a box of talc and send a shower down his back, or fill his palms with the powder and rub his face and arms and hands. “Good-looking rascal she met at Worthing. Well, it had to happen somewhen. Tears began to stream from her cheeks. ’ ‘Get rid of the wench,’ Roding said brutally.
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