"My theory about such crimes," said the doctor, "is that the persons committing them are always more or less insane."
"Insane!" swore the major, fiercely. "If I catch the man who did this, I'll fit him for a hospital!"
"We are all a little daft at times—when we are angry, in love, in extreme want, or excited by intense passion of any kind," said the doctor. "Extreme ignorance, being neglect of one's intellectual faculties, is a kind of insanity, and so is the perversion of the moral perceptions of those who are educated to a life of crime from their childhood. My theory is that punishment should be so inflicted as to restore reason, not merely to wreak vengeance."
"And my theory is that every vagabond who breaks the laws ought to be flogged and imprisoned, so that he may know that society will not tolerate crime. Hang your fine-spun theories about the beggars who prey upon the community!" said the major, rising and kicking back his chair ill-naturedly.
The doctor had nothing more to say, and the company withdrew to the parlor.
There, gathered around the great fireplace, sat Mrs. Newton, her daughters—both children—Mary Engle, their tutor, Mrs. Willitts and the wives of the gentlemen who had come from the dinner-table.
They rose as the men entered the room, and greeted them cordially. Tom Willitts went quickly to Mary's side, and while the others engaged in lively conversation he took her hand gently and, as was their privilege, they walked slowly up the room and sat by the window alone, Mary's face brightening as she thanked Tom heartily for the beautiful present he had sent her the day before.
"Why don't you wear it now, Mary?" asked Tom.
"Do you want me to? I will get it and put it on, then, when I go to my room," said Mary.