“I might have muddled for a time. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. “Will you be moral and your species, or immoral and yourself? We’ve decided to be immoral. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. Very slowly emerging out of a phase of stupefaction, these personal affairs and her personal problem resumed possession of her mind. “But I must, I will,” he answered fiercely. “And, after all, I am just one common person!” She watched the throb of the arteries in the stem of her neck, and put her hand at last gently and almost timidly to where her heart beat beneath her breast.
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