His hand traveled below her loose neckline, and he cupped her round breast in his hand. He refrained from pointing out that the case would be exactly the same if she was not a lady. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. But this time she wanted nothing for herself: she wanted something for Hoddy—success. And what did she do? Not only did she cut his hand in her rage, but she refused to let him help her, and then she ran away from him. Her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,—but that was the only drawback to her beauty. To Capes he was almost deferential, and she had never seen him deferential in the old time, never. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites.
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