Her English was halting. "Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. "Do you call neglecting your work, and singing flash songs nothing? Zounds! you incorrigible rascal, many a master would have taken you before a magistrate, and prayed for your solitary confinement in Bridewell for the least of these offences. She is extremely lovely, but for her to have borne the name of the Blessed Virgin would have been nothing short of sacrilege.
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