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. They mean everything that women can mean—except submission. There was no mistaking his intentions this time. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. All at once she realised that Kimble had halted, leaning heavily against the wall. She thought of them as fools, but had been sorry to see them go.
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