\" He perked up, ready to make conversation. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother. “You haven’t come here to make a lot of difficulties?” she asked. Do you think that I shall ever make an actress, my friend?” “I doubt it,” he answered bluntly.
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