Nobody regards Constance or Vee as a delicate trifle. The wish was vain: and, endeavouring to banish every earthly thought, he addressed himself deeply and sincerely to prayer. The thought of Capes flooded her being like long-veiled sunlight breaking again through clouds. She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. It may be instinctive; it may be that children vaguely realize that at the end of all wedding journeys is disillusion. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight.
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