When she had finished the first tale, there was a sense of disappointment. She kept her face downcast. It is very sweet of you to have waited for me. Wood had the advantage of her husband in point of years, being on the sunny side of forty,—a period pronounced by competent judges to be the most fascinating, and, at the same time, most critical epoch of woman's existence,—whereas, he was on the shady side of fifty,—a term of life not generally conceived to have any special recommendation in female eyes. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. ” “No.
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