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The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. 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. Nigel Ennison was he. ” She nodded. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. Perhaps Gerald was not as clothheaded as he had thought. ” Anna wheeled an easy chair to the fire.
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