“I will take a carriage,” she said, “and fetch my things. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. Bête, she told herself fiercely. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes.
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