Henceforth Ruth would closely observe her fellow women and note the hang of their skirts. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. 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’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly. Not fit to be dust on your boots.
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