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. “My charm of manner, I suppose. ‘You usually do,’ he said lightly. She would end alone. "Not my king's," returned Wood. “Were you thinking of private apartments, a boarding-house or an hotel?” she asked. Glancing at the finger-post over the cage, which has been described as situated at the outskirts of the village, and seeing no directions to Dollis Hill, he made fresh inquiries as to where it lay, from an elderly man, who was standing with another countryman near the little prison. She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. What with these converging roofs that shut out all but a hand's breadth of the sky, sunshine was rare at this point.
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