of their blameless eye, and they keep on thinking so until some joker with an equally strong but more supple will bamboozles them out of whatever it is that they value most. I have always hated that breed of unconscious "oh, come, sinning brother, and sin no more" pharisee. They do a lot of harm; much more, in fact, than others with a lot less virtue and a little more tolerance. This girl was convinced that I had stolen Edith's pearls, and nothing was going to unconvince her. I wasn't. She made me tired.
Miss Dalghren may have seen my face harden up, for her eyes began to blaze. At least, there was plenty of fight in her, and no fear at all.
"Mr. Clamart," says she, "have you no sense of gratitude? No scruple nor respect for your given word? Just think what these people did for you. Think of the penal servitude from which they rescued you and the opportunity which they have offered you for reconstructing your life. And see the suffering that you have brought into their home. There is John"
"He's not suffering much at the present moment," I interrupted.
Her teeth came together with a click and she clenched her fists.
"How can you sneer like that?" she cried. "John is lying there in the library, dead drunk. And why? Because of the shame and remorse that has resulted from your cruelty. John suspects you. So far, he merely suspects; he has not the absolute knowledge that I have."
"Absolute knowledge of what?" I asked.
