A Corner in Lightning

They had been dining for once in a way tête-à-tête, and she--that is
to say, Mrs. Sidney Calvert, a bride of eighteen months' standing--was
half lying, half sitting in the depths of a big, cosy, saddle-bag
armchair on one side of a bright fire of mixed wood and coal that was
burning in one of the most improved imitations of the mediaeval
fireplace. Her feet--very pretty little feet they were, too, and very
daintily shod--were crossed, and poised on the heel of the right one
at the corner of the bl...