"Rowland," said Lady Trafford, regarding him with a look of indescribable anxiety, "you have assured me that I shall behold my son. Wasn’t it—a little bit of a scene?” “Oh! let me see. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. ‘Where was I? Oh yes. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address.
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