And neither had any of that theatricality which demands gestures and facial expression. It tore her apart. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. But men are often blind to rings. "Stay!" cried Wood, "this is a most perplexing business—if you really are privy to the affair——" "We'll talk of it to-morrow, Sir," returned Jackson, cutting him short.
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