’ She giggled suddenly. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. ‘You said it. 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. I’ve got imagination. ” “You are not a coward,” she repeated, “or you would not be my friend. A brief calm succeeded. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern.
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