‘Point it at me. ‘Soi-disant? Then he is not Valade?’ ‘How can I know?’ she countered crossly. ‘You heard Gosse—I mean, the man you know as Valade?’ ‘Clear as day, miss,’ he uttered. 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. Not my affair, of course, but I think we ought to teach them more or restrain them more. ‘Obsessed, that’s what you are. You are nothing of the sort.
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