Of this boy she had only caught a glimpse;—but that glimpse was sufficient to satisfy her it was her son,—and, if she could have questioned her own instinctive love, she could not question her antipathy, when she beheld, partly concealed by a pillar immediately in the rear of the woollen-draper, the dark figure and truculent features of Jonathan Wild. "This gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear," said the carpenter. It simply doesn’t count. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation.
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