Miss Spencer could have withstood successfully any moral trial, but persuade her that her skin was in danger, and she would succumb.

Nella at once divined this useful fact, and proceeded accordingly, hiding the strangeness of her own sensations as well as she could.
'You had better sit down now,' said Nella, 'and I will ask you a few questions.' And Miss Spencer obediently sat down, rather white, and trying to screw her lips into a formal smile.
'Why did you leave the Grand Babylon that night ?' Nella began her examination, putting on a stern, barrister-like expression.
'I had orders to, Miss Racksole.' 'Whose orders ?' 'Well, I'm--I'm--the fact is, I'm a married woman, and it was my husband's orders.' 'Who is your husband?
'Tom Jackson--Jules, you know, head waiter at the Grand Babylon.' 'So Jules's real name is Tom Jackson?
Why did he want you to leave without giving notice ?' 'I'm sure I don't know, Miss Racksole.

I swear I don't know.

He's my husband, and, of course, I do what he tells me, as you will some day do what your husband tells you.

Please heaven you'll get a better husband than mine!' Miss Spencer showed a sign of tears.
Nella fingered the revolver, and put it at full cock.