"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Aunt and niece regarded each other silently. She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. Surely he was imagining this picture. " "Ah! you're so very particular," sighed Mrs. ’ ‘Parbleu,’ burst from Melusine indignantly. She was enchanted by the beauty of the other girls, who were magically transformed into fairies and elves by makeup into seemingly unfamiliar yet glamorous new people.
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