He was always doing his best to call her attention to the fact that he was a man of spirit and quality and experience, and she a young and beautiful woman, and that all sorts of constructions upon their relationship were possible, trusting her to go on from that to the idea that all sorts of relationships were possible. “Your success here is absolutely meteoric. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. 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. “I go to private school right now. He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. Maggot had been brought to a termination. She saw herself in very much Vivie’s position—managing something. Is all your house on the same scale of magnificence as this, Annabel?” she asked, looking round.
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