"I came to see Jack Sheppard, and I won't go till you point him out to me. I suppose most of our daughters would marry organ-grinders if they had a chance—at that age. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. " As he spoke, a smile crossed Sheppard's countenance. There was a hint of tears in her voice. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. 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. The houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things.
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