The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. I do not wish to return to Paris. 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. “Of course!” he said. " "At your peril, sirrah!" cried Wood. I wonder why on earth the curtains are drawn.
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