“I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. 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. ‘Sir?’ Hilary threw a brief glance at Trodger, and quickly returned his intent gaze to the Frenchman, who had halted once more, and stood as if thinking deeply. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight.
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