The Closing Scene 472 EPOCH THE FIRST. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. She flushed with desire and happiness, her husband had returned to her and all would be aright. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. Doctors constantly admonished and offered weak consolation that most would have been hurt much worse from the type of fall he took. He would get very cross one evening and no one would dare to remind him of it. Stanley’s pace slackened. I can’t stand it. A boy no older than she, Gianfrancesco’s cousin, whispered what he would like to do to her when she stole into the hallways near the women’s chambers to fix herself. "Well, he's a pretty fellow at all events," observed Mrs. Sheppard, faintly. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. "Oh, I've read that!" Spurlock had heard distinctly enough all of this odd conversation; but until the spinster's reference to the family album, no phrase had been sufficient in strength of attraction to break the trend of his own unhappy thoughts. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt.
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