Still, he was puzzled because McClintock had not spoken. 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. How could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a bait. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. ‘Sir?’ enquired the lad. It is to take place to-night.
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