Wood, was pronounced by that lady to be very much sprained; and she, forthwith, proceeded to bathe it with a reddish-coloured lotion. Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time. She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. Things you would laugh at. It was a precious thing, a beautiful cabochon—do you know what that is?” “What’s a cabochon?” “It’s a precious jewel that doesn’t have facets yet. It has come,—and sooner than you expected. “She cannot be aware,” he continued, “that she is making herself conspicuous. He smiled tenderly. “We must go.
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