\" She fibbed. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. Something insisted that those two were mysteriously linked—that the woman knew the man was there. “I mean to go to that dance! I meant to reason with you, but you won’t reason.
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