Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. Strange gurgle-like noises emanated from the crypt. "Oh, easily enough," rejoined the other. The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. It's my way when I'm ruffled. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. Opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults —searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately. “You have put all your life in my hands,” he declared. Coarse as were the ruffian's notions of feminine beauty, he could not be insensible to the surpassing loveliness of the fair creature, who had thus solicited his attention.
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