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. One transgression; he was sure of that. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. Wood, terrified by the wildness of her looks. Obey my orders, and you've nothing to fear. There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. “And that only brings me up to about sixty-five! “A glittering wilderness of time That to the sunset reaches No keel as yet its waves has ploughed Or gritted on its beaches. MANNING,” she had begun. But I found it no laughing matter, I can assure you.
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