" "I'll tell you what I'll do," rejoined the other. ” She commented, only to herself. 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. "Jack!" she cried, raising her head. He began to tell me something—and stopped. No one will ever love you as I love you now. “But I am sorry,” she exclaimed.
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