A girl—at my age—is grown-up. 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. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. He looked at it with uplifted eyebrows, but made no remark. " Together they were making habitable the second bungalow, which was within calling distance of McClintock's. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me.
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