Now here is just where a less experienced person would have made her mistake. Seeing how easily you could be induced to disgorge, she would have hinted at expenditures that would have caused a revolt even in your generous brain. I came late on purpose that Tuesday morning (I had only been a couple of blocks away) in order to work up the fever that I knew was latent in you. I suggested that you go to the shops, knowing that you would grasp at the chance to occupy so close a position to me as the cab would afford. At Altman's I pretended to be shocked at some of the prices, so that you would pronounce them the extremity of cheapness. (How could you do anything else?) And I hinted bashfully at the question of jewelry, knowing that you would send me all I could reasonably expect, as you did the next day. Then I went to dine with you in a private room, primarily because I was nearly starved to death, secondarily because I knew it would fasten you to me the closer. I put on that awful blue veil to give you the impression that I had never done such a thing before, when as a matter of fact the waiter who served us knows my face as well as he does his mother's, if he has one. He knew enough to conceal that fact, however, as I am certain, from previous experience, every waiter in that house would have done. Now we come to one of the fine points. You did not forget to mention in your description of that evening how I refused to have the door of our _cabinet particulaire_ locked, which you were kind enough to ascribe to maidenly modesty on my part. The fact is, ever since I was imprisoned three years ago for two months, awaiting trial for one of my schemes that went awry, the thought of a turned key on any room I occupy drives me into fits. In that at least I was honest. The scare you gave me in proposing to lock that door took away my appetite to such an extent that I ate, as you have recorded, very sparingly of the excellent dinner. You may remember that I showed similar trepidation at St. Thomas, when you suggested that Mr. Eggert might lock the door of my bedroom. It was enough like a jail with the high fence around the grounds, and I never felt quite easy till we had left the place. I really did not take one good breath there, so vivid is my recollection of the horrible days when high walls and locked doors meant imprisonment.