” “Yes, it is. Of course. Have you anything to ask me?” Ann Veronica readjusted her mind hastily. 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. He taught her how to read and write in Latin and Greek, often rewarding her for her efforts with a flower or a trinket.
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