; the fact that he instantly believed her
seemed only to increase his bewilderment. Presently he found that she
was still speaking, and he began to listen to her, catching a phrase
now and then through the deafening clamor of his thoughts.

It amounted to this--that just after her husband's first election, when
Fleetwood's claims for the Attorney-Generalship were being vainly
pressed by a group of his political backers, Mrs. Mornway had chanced
to sit next to him once or twice at dinner. One day, on the strength of
these meetings, he had called and asked her frankly if she would not
help him with her husband. He had made a clean breast of his past, but
had said that, under a man like Mornway, he felt he could wipe out his
political sins and purify himself while he served the party. She knew
the party needed his brains, and she believed in him--she was sure he
would keep his word. She would have spoken in his favor in any
case--she would have used all her influence to overcome her husband's
prejudice--and it was by a mere accident that, in the course of one of
their talks, he happened to give her a "tip" (his past connections were
still useful for such purposes), a "tip" which, in the first invading
pressure of debt after Mornway's election, she had not had the courage
to refuse. Fleetwood had made some money for her--yes, about thirty
thousand dollars. She had repaid what he had lent her, and there had
been no further transactions of the kind between them. But it appeared
that Gregg, before his dismissal, had got hold of an old check-book
which gave a hint of the story, and had pieced the rest together with
the help of a clerk in Fleetwood's office. The "Spy" was in possession
of the facts, but did not mean to use them if Fleetwood was not
reappointed, the Lead Trust having no personal grudge against Mornway.

Her story ended there, and she sat silent while he continued to look at
her. So much had perished in the wreck of his faith that he did not
attach much value to what remained. It scarcely mattered that he
believed her when the truth was so sordid. There had been, after all,
nothing to envy him for but what Mrs. Nimick had seen; the core of his
life was as mean and miserable as his sister's....

His wife rose at length, pale but still calm. She had a kind of
external dignity which she wore like one of her rich dresses. It seemed
as little a part of her now as the finery of which his gaze
contemptuously reckoned t