The new month had already begun and as most firms have their accounts balanced only once a month, he had, he reasoned, nearly the entire four weeks in which to operate.
Conscience was dulled in Constance, also, and she was now busy with ink eraser, the water colors, and other paraphernalia in a wholesale raising of checks, mostly for amounts smaller than that in the first attempt.
"We are taking big chances, anyway," she urged him.

"Why quit yet?
A few days more and we may land something worth while." The next day he excused himself from the office for a while and presented himself at his new bank with a sheaf of new checks which she had raised, all certified, and totaling some thousands more.
His own check for twenty-five thousand was now honored.

The relief which he felt was tremendous after the weeks of grueling anxiety.

At once he hurried to a broker's and placed an order for the stocks he had used on which to borrow.

He could now replace everything in the safe, straighten out the books, could make everything look right to the systematizer, could blame any apparent irregularity on his old system.
Even ignorance was better than dishonesty.
Constance, meanwhile, had installed herself in the little office they had hired, as stenographer and secretary.