A fever of shame ran through her being. It was time to get up. The day had become suddenly overcast. “I have had adventures—oh, more than one, I can assure you. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. Take care of yourselves, gentlemen, and your governor will take care of you. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. Wood again made his appearance in a more composed frame of mind, and, at his daughter's earnest solicitation, was induced to partake of some refreshment.
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