" "It is past," rejoined Lady Trafford, recovering herself by a powerful effort; "but never allude to the circumstance again. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. . Upon this young fellow's face there were no wrinkles, only shadows, in the hollows of the cheeks and under the eyes. The aunt laughed. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. Wild. ‘I knowed he were a wrong ’un, but that. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. As silent as she had remained about who had brought her home last night. She knew that babies came from the womb; her womb had fallen out with her baby.
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