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hated poverty—No, not hated, for then I could have fought it, I feared it, which is much worse. You don’t know what genteel poverty is. I do. It was not a matter of theory with me, and I thought that falling in love was all nonsense, and that I could be perfectly happy in my own way. So I was for a long time. I did not care for women’s ways, and I liked going about with men, riding and shooting and all that, and when they talked bosh and flattered me, I just laughed at them. People called me fast, but it was just that.”

“I know, I know—I understand,” he stammered, vaguely, anxious to escape from the situation at any cost, yet unable to render her measure for measure of openhanded truth and candour.

“And now I want to tell you that there is something more in life than I dreamed of—Is it love?—I am sure I don’t know. Perhaps it is religion; but at any rate don’t lose it if you have the chance. There is something better in life than money, or fun, or having a good time. You may bet your life on that!”

The slowly-rising light laid a brightness on her fair hair and forehead, and brought a deeper sparkle to her beautiful eyes. Not one woman in a thousand could have borne that penetrating ray without looking fatigued and faded in the