Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. Her husband was prouder of her every day. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. But, in spite of his outcries and resistance, he was dragged along by Jonathan and his janizaries. CHAPTER XIV. ‘Very. For a short time they allowed me to share the warmth of their lives. ” “I will buy books and a lay figure,” he declared, “to practise upon. “Did he tell you, Annabel?” “Yes. Along the inner side was a wonderfully arranged series of displayed specimens that Russell himself had prepared.
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