" "So it is, child. She found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry. “Don’t you understand, Nigel,” she said softly, “that it was precisely for this I have worked so hard. “The wrappered life-discipline! One comes to that at last. But what I want to get at is this. Mr. "Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. I waited for them to get right out of the grounds. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. “I am getting plain,” she said, with a little shudder. . CHAPTER XVIII.
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