] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. 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. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. We’ll have some buttered toast. Then she spoke, with a carelessness he instantly suspected. That “entirely English” comment was said just to provoke me. Shari’s head poked out of the bathroom where she had been preoccupied with preparations for her morning shower. I wish to prevent a repetition of any such errand as I presume you have come here upon this evening.
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