He could not doubt it. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. The flat was apparently empty. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat. “No! No no no no no no no!” She ran towards them, her arms outstretched, but he blocked her. Oh God! pardon me. 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. Sheppard.
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