It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. He answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter—had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up. But ere the words could find utterance, her maternal tenderness overcame her indignation; and, sinking upon her knees, she extended her arms over her child. ’ Jack blinked. . She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. She’s got a great imagination. . “How dared you do yourself this injustice?” “I did it for her sake,” she answered.
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