It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. 76 < 11 > A SEDUCTION, PART ONE Sebastian had loved to kiss her for hours. 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. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. You, Anna, are one of them. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. “You are in trouble,” he said. .
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