“Have some more port wine, sir?” “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr. 9. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. . She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. He opened the door of still another room, in one corner of which was a grand piano. “Fancy stabbing a man for jealousy!” she thought. “Of course it is okay!” Cathy’s voice rose in volume and in pitch. Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. The burden of decision had been transferred. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast.
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