Somehow or other his reputation as a hardened and unassailable bachelor had won for him during the last few years a comparative immunity from attentions on the part of those women with whom he had been brought into contact. Wood obeyed. “You ARE a female thing at bottom,” he admitted. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous. “I cannot part with you. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. In spite of all this, he grew daily better and stronger, and his spirits revived. She was not Madame Melusine Valade.
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