Lucy knocked again. "Jack Sheppard," returned the boy, fixing his eyes upon a portrait of the Earl of Mar. ‘Moreover, no one will believe any more that Yolande is me when they see this. It was the bitterest moment of her life. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. She was gathering quite a crowd in her newfound popularity, and the phenomenon was so apparent she could almost form her own harem of young boys. The boy had all kinds of opportunity; but it's the old story of father making it too easy. No lights were flashing, and a single squad car was not a cause for alert, as sometimes the Becks allowed squads to use their drive to watch for speeders and other reckless drivers. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven.
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