" The lad made no answer, but left the room. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, after a long interval, “if they are absurd. It’s just like your Splendid Pride to do it. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling. And, if I'd my own way with the Secretary of State, he never should. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. But at the word “home” she turned again. Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. “In the end,” it seemed to be thinking, “they embalmed me with the utmost respect—sound spices chosen to endure—the best! I took my world as I found it.
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