She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. She walked with an easy quickness down the Avenue and through the proletarian portion of Morningside Park, and crossing these fields came into a pretty overhung lane that led toward Caddington and the Downs. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. But somehow he could not bring any of these affairs to an orderly end. There is some deep treachery hidden beneath his words. Wood, glancing angrily at her husband.
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