“Yes,” said she, “and they have sunk deep in my heart. It is quite true. My son has led an evil life—so I have been told.”
“Who told you?”
“I have heard it from several.”
“Name one.”
“William Rawton.”
“Rawton—Rawton! He’s a gipsy—is he not?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“I have seen him once or twice—that is all. Cannot he give you any information about your son, whom, it would appear, you are now, all of a sudden, so anxious to see?”
“It is not so sudden. I have been anxious to see him for a long time past. You forget, sir, that it is only lately I have had reasons for thinking he was my son.”
“Ah, true, there is something in that. It’s a pity you had not known it earlier.”