"Jack," said Mrs. Only how had they missed him? Were they imbecile? Or perhaps the mists had concealed him from them. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. She calmed herself, breathing deeply. On some insane score she fancied she had to state her case in verse. “I do hope you will see how things are, and not be offended with me or frightfully shocked and distressed by what I have done. You have neither reason nor logic. Wood turned over to obtain a more comfortable position. ” A flush of excitement crept into her cheeks. You disgust me. She heard the shower running and looked at his floor. 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. Permit me to introduce myself. “On the stage? Yes. "Give me till to-morrow," implored she, "and if I can bring myself to part with him, you shall have him without another word.
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