"Well, now we'll have to do something."
"You mean, to go away?" he asked, with a little shrug of his shoulder.
She nodded her head.
He was depressed: he had had a hemorrhage that morning, and the road seemed to close in on him on all sides.
"How are we to live?" he asked, with a pitiful sort of smile.
She looked up at him steadily for a moment, without speaking. He did not understand the look in her eyes, until she said:
"You have that five thousand dollars!"
He drew back a step from her, and met her unwavering look a little fearfully. She knew that—she—! "When did you find it out?" he asked.
"The morning we were married," she replied.
"And you—you, Christine, you married me, a thief!" She nodded again.
"What difference could it make?" she asked. "I wouldn't have been happy if I hadn't married you. And I loved you!"