One OUGHT to want to please her. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. "'Sblood! what's this!" cried Jonathan, in the utmost surprise. Passing thought. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. The kindly American consul-general had himself taken her to the bank, where her banknotes had been exchanged for a letter of credit, and had thoroughly advised her. There was no mistaking his intentions this time.
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