She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge. “But, my dear,” she began, “it is Impossible! It is quite out of the Question. “DEAR MR. 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. It was better even than the hymn-singing. Leave the room! leave the house, Sir! and enter it again at your peril. “I ought to have done. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. It's fine with me if it's fine with Cathy, darlin’. Kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where, having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west end of the town.
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