A pink spot burned upon his cheeks.
"I do not attend music-halls, sir, nor have I touched wine or spirits for years.

I--I have a wife to keep, and perhaps--I am expecting--" He stopped abruptly.

How could he mention that other matter which, for all its anxieties, still possessed for him a sort of quickening joy in the face of that brutal stare.

He did not conclude his sentence, the momentary light died out of his pale commonplace features.

He hung his head and was silent.
"A wife," Scarlett Trent repeated with contempt, "and all the rest of it of course.