“What made you think” he said, abruptly, with the gleam of avidity in his face, “that love makes people happy?” “I know it must. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. A mutual recognition took place at the same instant between the stranger and this individual. Lucy clutched the pencil in defeat. “Don’t be too sure of that,” she answered enigmatically. "And now, to your own concerns. 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. She is something different.
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