She came quickly into the little parlour, which now seemed inordinately crowded, and coming up to Melusine, seized her hands in a warm clasp. "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. "Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began. The class laughed, a few putting their hands to their foreheads in a military salute to mock her. “Don’t fence with me,” Anna cried fiercely.
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