“In all fairness,” she thought to herself as she coaxed his mouth toward her left nipple. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. “Were you thinking of private apartments, a boarding-house or an hotel?” she asked. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. ” “But how?” “I poured him out some port wine, and I said—let me see—oh, ‘You are going to be a grandfather!’” “Yes. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. You need fear no interruption from him, or any of his myrmidons. "With all my heart!" replied Wood. " "Nothing in the pockets. Wear one on the stage on the following day. Perhaps you will meet him someday.
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