He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. 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. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. The van started with a jerk and rumbled on its way. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. "Begone! or I fire!" he cried. I am gambling on his intuition. I tried to get across the terrace and onto the bridge to introduce myself, but the crowds did not part and I lost you. “I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. "I'd rather have given a thousand pounds than this had happened. And probably the girl would wear herself out, too. "I have him!" cried a voice in triumph.
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