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Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. He was a fool. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. "If you won't disclose your name, I will for you! You are Jonathan Wild!" "Further concealment is needless," answered the other, pulling off his wig and black patch, and resuming his natural tone of voice; "I am Jonathan Wild!" "Say you so!" rejoined Kneebone; "then be this your passport to eternity. ” “It must be most uncomfortable here. "Darrell's job was done early this morning," he said; "and if I'd attended to his advice, the packing-case would have been finished at the same time.
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