What would happen in the meanwhile, when she tried to account for its loss to Rosenthal, never caused him the slightest concern.  She, of course, could concoct some story which they would finally believe.  If not, they could deduct the value of the lace from her earnings.

He had the best of motives for his action.  Their board bill was overdue.  He was harassed by the want of even the small sums of money needed for car-fare, and of late it had become very evident that if they were to keep their present quarters—­and he was afraid to try for any others—­he must yield at once to the proprietor’s pressing suggestion to “patch up his differences with his wife,” and have her come home and once more take charge of the suite of rooms; the owner arguing that as Mr. and Mrs. Stanton were known to be “family people,” a profitable little game free from police interruption might be carried on, the surplus to be divided between the “house and Mrs. Stanton’s husband.”

That she should decline again to be party to any such plan seemed to him altogether improbable, since all she had to do to insure them both comfort was to return home like a sensible woman, put on the best clothes she possessed—­the more attractive the better, and she certainly was fetching in that wrapper—­and be reasonably polite to such of his friends as chose to drop in evenings for a quiet game of cards.

Moreover, she owed him something.  He had made every sacrifice for her, shared with her his every shilling, making himself an exile, if not a fugitive, for her sake, and it was time she recognized it.

With the recall of these incidents in his checkered career a new thought blazed up in his mind—­rather a blinding thought.  As its rays brightened he halted in his course, and stood gazing across the street as if uncertain as to his next move.  Perhaps, after all, it would be best not to pawn the mantilla.  An outright sale would be much better.  If this were impossible, it would be just as well to destroy the ticket and postpone his scheme for regaining possession of her person.  While something certainly was due him—­ and she of all women in the world should supply it—­ forcing her to carry out the landlord’s plan, now that he thought it over, might result in a certain kind of publicity, which, if his own antecedents were looked into, would be particularly embarrassing.  She might —­and here a slight shiver passed through him—­she might, in her obstinacy, threaten him with the forged certificates, a result hardly possible, for no letters of any kind had reached her, none so far as he knew; neither had he ever discussed the incident with her, for the simple reason that women, as a rule, never understood such things.  And yet how could he, as a financier, have tided over an accounting which, if allowed to go on, would have wiped out the savings of hundreds who had trusted him and whom he could not desert in their hour of need, except by some such desperate means?  Of course, if he had to do it all over again, he would never have locked up the stock-book in his own safe.  That was a mistake.  He ought to have left it with the treasurer.  Then he could have shifted the responsibility.