Stanley?” “I’ve fallen out with my father. You say that this gentleman was with you?” “I was,” Brendon answered, “most providentially. . . "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. He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. In Darrell's open features, frankness and honour were written in legible characters; while, in Jack's physiognomy, cunning and knavery were as strongly imprinted.
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