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. She was nearly dead. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. "And you ran away with a weakling! You denied me for a puppet!" "My lawful husband. It developed into a sort of secret and private bad manners. Agents were dispersed in all directions—offers the most tempting held out to induce the wavering to join the Chevalier's standard. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. “It is positively no use, Anna,” she declared, appealingly.
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