"Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. A woman cannot change her soul. 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. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. “Yes, John. . ’ Then Hilary became serious again. It plucked shingles from the school building, threatening to shake them all loose one by one like rotting teeth.
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