“Dinner is served, ma’am,” he announced to Mrs. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. Unobserved, she knelt and kissed the threshold: for she knew what kisses were now. Secretly she was gratified to be assigned to the rôle of an old traveller. "Arundel Stairs," replied Wood, "the nearest point to Wych Street.
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