This also struck her as odd. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. ‘She would not tell me. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. There’s hardly a night she doesn’t sneak out of the house. 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. E. “Often,” he repeated, a little heavily. ’ Melusine hardly dared believe she had heard him aright. There would be no way of keeping her police questioning a secret from the entire neighborhood.
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