. . He was perhaps forty-five years of age. ” He shook his head. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII. But she had spent nearly half of it, and had no conception of how such a sum could be made good again. From what she could tell, he truly had convinced himself that he was in love with her, but she knew that his ardor would fade eventually inasmuch as she knew John’s would. I’ve thought that out, and you must make up your mind to it. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. I tell you—never mind the bill.
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