"Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. She confronted him with his own double-standard. He then scaled the northern tower, and made his way to the summit of that part of the prison which fronted Giltspur Street. “We suspect that Mary is alive, and we think she will try to contact you if she ever tracks you down. “A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box. It means social isolation—struggle. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. The latter gentleman did full justice to the good things before him; but he drank sparingly, and was visibly annoyed by his companion's intemperance. She shuddered, adding confidentially, ‘You wouldn’t get me in there now, mind. A swift frown brought the still dark brows together for a moment. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. He was ready to seed his legacy, and you were a pawn to be moved out of the way.
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