" "Take a glass of gin, Ma'am," cried Poll Maggot, holding up a bottle of spirit; "it used to be your favourite liquor, I've heard. ‘You know about that?’ ‘It was the only possible deduction. You do not love your husband, you have married him for a position —to escape from—things which you feared. “If I were to marry now,” she said, “it would be with a sense of humiliation. “Is that plain?” she asked. ” The cabman, knocking with the butt end of his whip upon the window, reminded her that he was in a similar predicament.
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