Five minutes ago, his butler had entered the green saloon, an austere apartment, with dark forest-green wallpaper flocked with a swirling design, and heavy mahogany furniture. Her name was Rhea. Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. That day Gerald had brought her to this excessively careful house, where she had felt very much alone and very unlike herself. After the first violent outbreak of grief had in some degree subsided, Thames addressed him.
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