“Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. When he beheld Jack he uttered a deep groan. ‘So now we come to it. ‘And you, my girl, if you’d been born at all, would have been just what you think you are. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the author.
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