Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him. I have a weapon—a knife—and if you attempt to open the door, will plunge it to my heart. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. He would raise her up once again, ply her with silks and jewels again, all of the accoutrements of the new generation: the cars, the toys, the restaurants, and the prestige. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. It is now a point of view, differing widely, as the ignorant man differs from the educated.
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