His smile faded. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. “You will have some tea?” she asked. . He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. On searching the coat, he found, amongst other matters, a mask, a key, and a pocket-book.
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