His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. Much to her annoyance, therefore, Winifred was left alone with the woollendraper, who following up a maxim of his own, "that nothing was gained by too much bashfulness," determined to profit by the opportunity. This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers. Waving a white flag, naturally. In all her life no living thing had had to depend upon her, not even a dog or a cat. He must know she’ll be at a convent.
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