He knew the need of it. When some one of the many middle-class individuals whom he knew, who had money, would get into trouble, he would shake his head. It didn’t do to talk about those things. If it came up for discussion among such friends as with him passed for close, he would deprecate the folly of the thing. “It was all right to do it—all men do those things—but why wasn’t he careful? A man can’t be too careful.” He lost sympathy for the man that made a mistake and was found out. On this account he still devoted some time to showing his wife about—time which would have been wearisome indeed if it had not been for the people he would meet and the little enjoyments which did not depend upon her presence or absence. He watched her with considerable curiosity at times, for she was still attractive in a way and men looked at her. She was affable, vain, subject to flattery, and this combination, he knew quite well, might produce a tragedy in a woman of her home position. Owing to his order of mind, his confidence in the sex was not great. His wife never possessed the virtues which would win the confidence and admiration of a man of his nature. As long as she loved him vigorously he could see how confidence could be, but when that was no longer the binding chain—well, something might happen. During the last year or two the expenses of the family seemed a large thing. Jessica wanted fine clothes, and Mrs. Hurstwood, not to be outshone by her daughter, also frequently enlivened her apparel. Hurstwood had said nothing in the past, but one day he murmured. “Jessica must have a new dress this month,” said Mrs. Hurstwood one morning. Hurstwood was arraying himself in one of his perfection vests before the glass at the time. “I thought she just bought one,” he said. “That was just something for evening wear,” returned his wife complacently. “It seems to me,” returned Hurstwood, “that she’s spending a good deal for dresses of late.” “Well, she’s going out more,” concluded his wife, but the tone of his voice impressed her as containing something she had not heard there before. He was not a man who traveled much, but when he did, he had been accustomed to take her along. On one occasion recently a local aldermanic junket had been arranged to visit Philadelphia—a junket that was to last ten days. Hurstwood had been invited. “Nobody knows us down there,” said one, a gentleman whose face was a slight improvement over gross ignorance and sensuality. He always wore a silk hat of most imposing proportions. “We can have a good time.” His left eye moved with just the semblance of a wink. “You want to come along, George.” The next day Hurstwood announced his intention to his wife. “I’m going away, Julia,” he said, “for a few days.” “Where?” she asked, looking up. “To Philadelphia, on business.” She looked at him consciously, expecting something else. “I’ll have to leave you behind this time.”