perfectly consistent, perfectly sensible in all she said and

did--confess, dear lady, wouldn't Antony have taken to his heels and

have fled from such a monster?

[XIV]

I regret to admit that Mr. Woods did not toss feverishly about his bed

all through the silent watches of the night. He was very miserable,

but he was also twenty-six. That is an age when the blind bow-god

deals no fatal wounds. It is an age to suffer poignantly, if you will;

an age wherein to aspire to the dearest woman on earth, to write her

halting verses, to lose her, to affect the