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Wood, however, was too much excited to attend to the caution. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. Then he opened the study door and called “Mollie!” and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. He stared at her stupidly, forgetting to guard against the tactics he had come to expect from her. It was neither good nor bad. Most of my people are upstairs dressing for dinner.
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