“That was a little dodge of mine to get from him a piece of undoubted evidence of his identity. You see, I wasn’t quite certain that he was the man. There are so many men ready to carry out some scheme of imposture if they only get the chance. Lord! the cases that I have heard of! Now, what more likely than that someone on the look-out for a job should have read the accounts that appeared in the papers of the heroic death of Marcus Blaydon, and then got hold of the idea that it would pay to come to me with a story of how he had not been drowned, and with a demand for his wife or a pretty fair sum to keep away?” “There can be no doubt that he is Marcus Blaydon--oh, none whatever. I wish there was even the smallest chance of a chance. But how would the postcard prove anything?” “Well, an hour ago I found that card on the mantelpiece, and I gave it a light coating of gum. By that means I got an excellent impression of his fingers, and by good luck his thumb also. Now, if I send that card to the governor of the gaol where the man spent a year, he will tell me, in the course of a post or two, if he is Marcus Blaydon or Marcus Aurelius--see?” She did see. She saw very clearly that the man whose education in a certain direction she had airily undertaken, possessed some elements of knowledge in another direction. He had not mis-spent his years of wandering. He had come to know something of his fellow men and their ways. She was well aware of the fact that, however resolute, however brave she might have been in meeting that man face to face at the critical moment, she would not have succeeded in getting rid of him as easily as Jack had got rid of him; and her admiration for Jack had proportionately increased. Women love a man who is successful with women, but they worship a man who is successful with men. Priscilla gazed in admiration at the man before her. “You got the better of him in every way,” she said “He was like a child in your hands--a foolish boy.” “We’ll get the better of him in the long run, too, you may be sure of that,” he said. The morning’s work had immeasurably increased his admiration for her. She had only said one word during the whole of that time spent in the library. If a man esteems a low voice as a most excellent thing in a woman, he bows down before the wisdom of a woman who has a great deal to say and yet can keep silent. And surely no woman alive possessed the wisdom of his Priscilla in this respect. She had done neither coaxing nor wheedling of the electors of the Nuttingford division; she had resorted to none of those disgusting flatteries of which the wives or the sisters of other candidates whom he could name had been guilty even in bonnie Scotland, where Conscience is understood to be the only consideration to make her sturdy sons vote this way or that. No; his Priscilla had won him the election by her silence; and in the same way she had allowed him to send Marcus Blaydon out of the house.