The moment I entered the room, and found you a prisoner in the hands of Jonathan Wild, I guessed how matters stood, and acted accordingly. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. Her stifled misery had betrayed her. But she had spent nearly half of it, and had no conception of how such a sum could be made good again. Someone ought to be with him until the doctor arrives. Why? While the front of his mind was busy warning her not to fall into the hopeless miseries of underpaid teaching, and explaining his idea that for women of initiative, quite as much as for men, the world of business had by far the best chances, the back chambers of his brain were busy with the problem of that “Why?” His first idea as a man of the world was to explain her unrest by a lover, some secret or forbidden or impossible lover. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene.
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