"Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent. I’m not such a bad sort. He drew an awed breath. Clotilde announced that she would not be back and she was taking Fritz and Anna forever. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. Presently. “Why should I bear the burden of your wickedness? Who knows what might come of it? I shall permit nothing of the sort.
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