"Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. White. She could still feel his psychic presence all around her, and she knew he was thinking of her. He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. They send you every good wish. 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.
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