“Well, I will tell you why I have outraged precedent. It is because, when I drew that comparison between you and the mansion with its garden of flowers, I spoke the truth. You have attracted me strangely, Nick Carter; not as other men might do, but as only you could do, and have done it. I can see in you the possibilities of supreme content—and Heaven knows that I long for content, as we all long for the unattainable. I do not love you—but I could love you. You are not necessary to me—but you could be so. One does not fall into love blindly—at least not one like I am, or like you are, possessed of brain and of judgment. I wonder if you understand me now?” “I think so.” “You know who I am. I know that you do know; and yet you have kept the secret. You are aware that I was born to better things; that no woman in the world is better connected than I am. Yet in my youth I threw that all away from me and went out into the world, driven there by one foolish act, and I have been in that world ever since buffeted by it; maligned by it. In that outer world there is no content anywhere. “I am like other women in that I long for content. I am like other women in that I have a heart for love. I am like other women in that I am loyal to one thing at least, and that is to myself. I am like other women after all, and it is only those who do not know my real self who think me different. Can you understand that?” “Yes. I think so.” “You have the key to content, if you will give it to me. I hate this life of mine, in which there is nothing that is true and real. I crave the real things of life—and, my friend, all the real things of life depend upon just one quality—love. “Wait, my friend, bear with me just a moment longer. Now that I have begun—and I have never talked frankly to any person before now—I have the wish to complete what I began to say.” “Yes, countess.” “When the sinner, moved by the exhortations of the revivalist, goes down in front and falls upon his knees and is converted, that sinner becomes a changed being. All the black past is forgotten. Redemption has been found. Do you understand?” “Yes.” “Well, I am that sinner. All that has gone before in my checkered life could be forever forgotten, and my soul might be saved—with that key to the gate of content which you could hold out to me—if you would.” “Countess, I——” “And you and I together—ah, what could we not accomplish? You in your profession, and I helping you, assisting you, working for you and with you! Think of it! Think of the perfection of it! The beauty of it! But—the gate is closed and locked.” “The gate is closed and locked,” he replied soberly.