The Revolt Of Man

BREAKFAST was laid for two in the smallest room--a jewel of a room--of perhaps the largest house in Park Lane. It was already half-past ten but as yet there was only one occupant of the room an elderly lady of striking appearance. Her face a long oval face was wrinkled and crow-footed in a thousand lines; her capacious forehead was contracted as if with thought; her white eyebrows were thick and firmly drawn; her deep-set eyes were curiously keen and bright; her features were strongly marked---it was a handsome face which could never even in early girlhood have been a pretty face; her abundant hair was of a rich creamy white the kind of white which in age compensates its owner for the years of her youth when it was inclined to redness; her mouth was full the lower lip slightly projecting as is often found with those who speak much and in large rooms; her fingers were restless; her figure was withered by time.