"What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. She glared at him with satisfaction. She was to see Capes to-morrow, but now, in this state of misery she had achieved, she felt assured he would turn his back upon her, take no notice of her at all. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua.
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