Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. "Your son's father was a thief; and Jonathan Wild (unless I'm misinformed,) was his friend,—so it's not unnatural he should show some partiality towards Jack. And mind you don't arouse his suspicions. Lonesomeness isn't my worry. You are a detective?" "Yes. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock.
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