“You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. “Michelle, it’s me, Lucy. Now for it, Thames! Make as great a row as you can to divert his attention. 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. ‘I said you were sympathique,’ she told him. "Put it under my pillow," he said.
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