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“By-the-bye,” he said, presently, “your sister was married to old Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t she? I saw the notice in the papers. Meat pies with sweet crust were stuffed with macaroni, steaks of pork and beef were pounded thin and grilled rare, capons had been marinated in plum wine and cinnamon, and veal sausages stewed in cream were served over fine noodles: all the dishes that he loved were present. ToC Mrs. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. ‘You, soldiers,’ she yelled. So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound. I like such interviews. Your pets are gone. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. “I have never yet met a man whose intellect I could respect. You will be—my wife. ” She threw away the end of her cigarette. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world.
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