There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment. Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. They had not so far been of much personal interest to Gerald, but tonight was different. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. I must provide for my safety. Lady Trafford uttered a prolonged scream, and fainted.
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