In this story I have dealt with an extraordinary phase of modern life in
London, which to the majority will come as a startling revelation.
Some will, perhaps, declare that no such amazing state of things exists
in this, the most enlightened age the world has known. To such, I can
only assert that in this decadent civilisation of ours the things which
I have described actually take place in secret, as certain facts in my
possession indisputably show.
It is no unhealthy problem of sex, or of the ethics of divorce; no story
of woman's faithlessness or man's misplaced confidence, but a subject
upon which I believe no English author has yet touched, and one which I
anticipate will prove interesting, and point a wholesome moral. It may
not be out of place to add that I have been compelled to touch the
subject with as light a hand as the purpose of the story will allow, in
respect for the susceptibilities of the reader, and because it is
furthest from my intention to sow evil broadcast.