There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. "Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. ‘Don’t let us quarrel over your Leonardo,’ he said, summoning a faint smile. "But bring your glim this way. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. Behind every one of these myriad fronts she passed there must be a career or careers. And severely hurt that pig, which was a very good thing. 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.
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