"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. She bolted awake in the large bed which was awash in a sea of silks, furs, and red curtains. “I was in Paris four years ago,” Mr. Not daring, however, to listen to it, he ran on. She smiled encouragingly, laying aside her plate and turning her chair from the table. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag.
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