You know you do, Annabel. “It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. 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. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. She was caught by an uncle, whose opinion she valued, making faces at Roddy because he had exulted at this. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. Monsieur Charvill, he is also my cousin. "I never told anybody," she went on.
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