"Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. “I hope you realize,” he went on, in a lower and less assured tone, “that I am in earnest—very much in earnest. The young man was mollified by her sympathy, and flattered by the obvious attempts of several of the other guests to draw him into conversation. She did not wince. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. ‘Certainly I have them with me.
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