Each wing had a small cupola; and, in the centre of the pile rose a larger dome, surmounted by a gilded ball and vane. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world. A little love from him would be enough. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. " "It may be; but if it shortens the distance and lightens the journey, I care not," retorted the widow, who seemed by this reproach to be roused into sudden eloquence. The Wastrel did not relish this.
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