pathetic pretence to be "a place in the country"; each was occupied by a family of a uniform and wearying respectability. These houses were like a row of chubby inmates from an institution, all wearing white cotton gloves and all dressed alike in their best.
The street in which the houses stood was called "The Avenue," and the house occupied by the couple in question was named "The Limes." It was difficult to imagine that anything of real interest could ever occur in "The Avenue." It was impossible to associate that decorous road with a murder or even a burglary, much less with an elopement. The only event that had disturbed its peace for long was an occasion when the husband of one of the respected residents had returned home at night in a state of noisy intoxication. For months afterwards the dwellers in "The Avenue," as they passed that house, looked at it askance. It may be said, in brief, that all the villas were "genteel" and that all those who lived in them were "worthy."
The plain lady of whom I am speaking had no children. She had been happy in a stagnant, unambitious way. Everything went well with her and her household, until one horrifying day when it was discovered that she had developed a
