But always this new phase in life which civilization called convention threw up barrier after barrier. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. Yet here you are, and at precisely the right moment, too. "Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings.
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