You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. She felt she must get him talking upon some impersonal theme at any cost. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble we had. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. The detective backed out slowly and closed the door without sound. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. It’s wrong in the eyes of most people.
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