Enough's as good as a feast of the dainties you provide. “But what can one do?” asked Ann Veronica. “I just came to you and put myself in your hands. Very romantic and all that. 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. He laughed reassuringly. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. " "That is what I wanted to know," said Ruth gravely. “And yet in a very few weeks I shall have done with it all.
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