He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. That is why I came to London. A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. “I am only sorry that I did not ask you to go with me. I don’t want to influence you unduly—But—They’re artistic people, Vee.
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