The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. “I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked. I’m not sure if Janine cared. My will is executed, and placed in safe custody. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety. ” He dared, his nostrils flaring.
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