She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. ” Anna stopped in front of her. But he did not follow on with the thought. 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. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. . “With your permission,” he said to Anna, “I shall arrange a bed for him where he is. " "A promise to my mother?" said Winifred, unsuspiciously.
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