The poor widow was thrown into an agony of distress on learning that a robbery had been committed, in which her son (for she could not doubt that Jack was one of the boys,) was implicated; nor was her anxiety alleviated by Mrs. People shrug their shoulders and call me a crazy socialist. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. Nevertheless she withdrew her hand. “I have been amusing myself up to now by trying to earn my living,” she replied. She passed inside and upstairs without a word. She was chic, distinguished, unusual. ‘Your master in?’ he demanded of the astonished footman, removing his cockaded hat and handing it over. Jonathan cast a hasty glance around, to see that all was properly arranged for his purpose; placed a chair with its back to the door; disposed the lights on the table so as to throw the entrance of the room more into shadow; and then flung himself into a seat to await Sir Rowland's arrival. Then she realized that it was her business to let Manning talk and impose his own interpretations upon the situation so far as he was concerned.
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