For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. CHAPTER VI. It was 1582. Then pain entered their depths. Farewell.
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