I don't care how soon he learns that he has lost his adopted son. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. When I went I was refused admittance. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. " "Ha!" exclaimed her son, starting back, as he obeyed her, and disclosed Jonathan Wild. I wonder how it is,” she added, “that boys always make love so impertinently. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections.
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