CHAPTER I



Whether the utilitarian or the intuitive theory of the moral sense be
upheld, it is beyond question that there are a few subtle-souled
persons with whom the absolute gratuitousness of an act of reparation
is an inducement to perform it; while exhortation as to its necessity
would breed excuses for leaving it undone. The case of Mr. Millborne
and Mrs. Frankland particularly illustrated this, and perhaps
something more.

There were few figures better known to the local crossing-sweeper
than Mr. Millborne's, in his daily comings and goings along a
familiar and quiet London street, where he lived inside the door
marked eleven, though not as householder. In age he was fifty at
least, and his habits were as regular as those of a person can be who
has no occupation but the study of how to keep himself employed. He
turned almost always to the right on getting to the end of his
street, then he went onward down Bond Street to his club, whence he
returned by precisely the same course about six o'clock, on foot; or,
if he went to dine, later on in a cab. He was known to be a man of
some means, though apparently not wealthy. Being a bachelor he
seemed to prefer his present mode of living as a lodger in Mrs.
Towney's best rooms, with the use of furniture which he had bought
ten times over in rent during his tenancy, to having a house of his
own.