He glanced at it, and saw the bloodied blade. “Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up. Wood had the advantage of her husband in point of years, being on the sunny side of forty,—a period pronounced by competent judges to be the most fascinating, and, at the same time, most critical epoch of woman's existence,—whereas, he was on the shady side of fifty,—a term of life not generally conceived to have any special recommendation in female eyes. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. Gerald frowned. He would have risen again, but for the significance of the action. Not wisely but too well.
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