She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. " "Bless you for it. " "My turn comes before yours, Sir," interposed his better half. She shrank from him as he gripped her hand more forcibly. "I am, Charcoal. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. What beasts men are! I cannot typewrite, my three stories are still wandering round, two milliners have refused me as a lay figure because business was so bad. Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed.
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