‘Oh, we was always in there, miss,’ admitted Joan, moving closer. She gurgled. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. "'Odd's! bodikins!" cried Jack, rubbing his cheek, "I'm in luck to-day. What beasts men are! I cannot typewrite, my three stories are still wandering round, two milliners have refused me as a lay figure because business was so bad. ‘Oh, peste. I take it, down where we're going will be nothing new to you. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly. " The order was promptly obeyed. 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. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps.
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