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. But the aunt seized her in her arms and rocked with her. “Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. In the retrospect she was amazed to think how things had gone to pieces, for at the outset she had been quite prepared to go home again upon terms. This was in Tennessee. “‘Alcide’ is very popular. She was quite unconcerned. Sometimes I try to talk. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. You were afraid of me, afraid that I should have been shocked, afraid of the scandal.
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