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Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. Yet an indiscriminating, wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions. Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. She was reasonably certain why. She rose from her chair, and began walking up and down the room restlessly. His countenance was almost as white and rigid as that of the corpse by his side. ” “Don’t use such a word, my dear young lady,” Mr. I must bless him before I die. I’ve got a streak of male.
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