’ She waved towards a handy table to one side which was piled high with so many volumes, it looked in imminent danger of crashing to the floor. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. She had thought to wear it now, since she must look more the demoiselle. And in the Avenue she had an encounter with Ramage. "Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent. It was not as bad a wound as she had at first thought, and the blood was only oozing now. It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination.
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