" "My dear," observed Wood, "you should be more charitable—" "Charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry. My poor son despairs of me, for I have primed every member of the family to bring me the latest novels whenever they choose to visit. He rested his brow on his hand and conveyed magnificent tragedy by his pose. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. “Everything very nice, I am sure,” Miss Stanley murmured to Capes as he steered her to a place upon the little sofa before the fire. I am far too much the gentleman. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. "I have nearly done," replied the stranger. Tell him the truth, Annabel.
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