Wood, who had merely absented himself to see that a public breakfast, which he had ordered at the Six Bells for all who chose to partake of it, was in readiness. “No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. The change will come to-day. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. I——” She threw herself into an easy chair. The music confused and distracted her, and made her struggle against a feeling of intoxication. She did not remember how many seasons it took before she relented, how much time before she decided to toy with his affections.
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