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. She knew it. “How I am to earn enough sous for my dinner to-morrow—or failing that, what I can sell. She breathed deeply. I'm not noble; so my honourable ancestors will not turn over in their graves. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows.
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