" "I think I remember reading something about your father in the papers," observed Wood. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought. You must wait till supper's over. “I think,” he said, “that I would fetch any one whom he has asked to see. So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear—"Mother!" She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. Mrs. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. I want to talk to him and go about with him. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist. ‘Do not beg my pardon.
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