" "I do not doubt it," retorted Winifred, scornfully; "because I attach credit neither to one nor the other. “In Paris your sister appeared to me to be a charming student of frivolity. A pretty name for a pretty girl. I’m fine. 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. Ann Veronica’s desire to laugh unrestrainedly was checked by the tremendous earnestness of his expression. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites.
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