Wood, sinking into a chair, and fanning herself violently,—"what a fluster you have put me into with your violence, to be sure! And at the very time, too, when you know I'm expecting a visit from Mr. ” He said wistfully. For hours after she had not been sensible to life, only to exquisite echoes. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. She was fatigued physically and mentally, and neither mind nor body could rest. They conversed, or more or less she interviewed him.
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