She stood on the mat instead, and looked down on him. ‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. One mistress enough to ruin a man,—two, the devil. The doctor expected her to seize upon the subtle inference that there was something furtive, even criminal, in the manner the patient set this obligation upon humanity at large, to look after him in the event of his death. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. Probably something he had eaten. The stage manager reappeared presently, and made a speech.
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