A young man, who had been spending the last hour walking up and down on the opposite side of the way, came quickly over to her. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. "Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. It was just as easy to pretend she was watching one when she was actually watching the other. That she was provoked by his interference was obvious. "There's only one way out of the muddle, that I can see.
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