‘ FIVE-AND-TWENTY years ago, at the epoch of this story, there dwelt, in one of the middle states, a man whom we shall call Fauntleroy; a man of wealth, and magnificent tastes, and prodigal expenditure.’ This is the opening of chapter XXII of The Blithedale Romance which gives us old Moodie's story. We are told how ‘ Fauntleroy ’ led a life of conspicuous expenditure, and finding himself growing poor, ‘ he recoiled from this calamity ’:

To avoid it – wretched man! – or, rather, to defer it, if but for a month, a day, or only to procure himself the life of a few breaths more, amid the false glitter which was now less his own than ever – he made himself guilty of a crime. It was just the sort of crime, growing out of its artificial state, which society (unless it should change its entire constitution for this man's unworthy sake) neither could nor ought to pardon. More safely might it pardon murder.