“I thought they made knights of actors?”
“They may of Hal some day,” said Gwen. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the
blank face of the ancient city of Canton. Was that it? Had she
clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so
alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated
her. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at
this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. She would look up, shake her head, and then
go back to her reading or crewelwork. 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. . If he took a fancy
to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little
cups without handles. “Sufficient unto me is the
change thereof,” he said, with all the effect of an epigram. He did it, he said, “to distract his mind.
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