"My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. "The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. “You ARE a female thing at bottom,” he admitted. “I love some one else. ‘Come, come, ma’am,’ he said smiling. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being.
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