‘—and what do I do? Well, we know what I do. " Winifred looked as if she could not indulge such a supposition for a single moment. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. He drove to his apartment, a second floor studio he 120 was renting above a bakery. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking.
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