The realization that any one in this scientifically fed city could be hungry was to me appalling. Yet here was a girl living amidst luxurious beauty, upon whom society was using the old argument of hunger to force her acceptance of the love of man. I rose and held out my hand. "You shall eat again today," I said. "I would rather not," she demurred. "I have not yet accepted favours from any man." "But you must. You are hungry," I protested. "The problem of your existence here cannot be put off much longer. We will go eat and then we will try and find some solution." Without further objection she walked with me. We found a secluded booth in a dining hall. I ordered the best dinner that Berlin had to offer. During the intervals of silence in our rather halting dinner conversation, I wrestled with the situation. I had desired to gain insight into the lives of these girls. Yet now that the opportunity was presented I did not altogether relish the role in which it placed me. The apparent innocence of the confiding girl seemed to open an easy way for a personal conquest--and yet, perhaps because it was so obvious and easy, I rebelled at the unfairness of it. To rescue her, to aid her to escape--in a free world one might have considered these more obvious moves, but here there was no place for her to escape to, no higher social justice to which appeal could be made. Either I must accept her as a personal responsibility, with what that might involve, or desert her to her fate. Both seemed cowardly--yet such were the horns of the dilemma and a choice must be made. Here at least was an opportunity to make use of the funds that lay in the bank to the credit of the name I bore, and for which I had found so little use. So I decided to offer her money, and to insist that it was not offered as the purchase price of love. "You must let me help you," I said, "you must let me give you money." "But I do not want your money," she replied. "It would only postpone my troubles. Even if I do accept your money, I would have to accept money from other men also, for you cannot pay for the whole of a woman's living." "Why not," I asked, "does any rule forbid it?" "No rule, but can so young a man as you afford it?" "How much does it take for you to live here?" "About five marks a day." I glanced rather proudly at my insignia as a research chemist of the first rank. "Do you know," I asked, "how much income that insignia carries?" "Well, no," she admitted, "I know the income of military officers, but there are so many of the professional ranks and classes that I get all mixed up." "That means," I said, "ten thousand marks a year." "So much as that!" she exclaimed in astonishment. "And I can live here on two hundred a month, but no, I did not mean that--you wouldn't,--I couldn't--let you give me so much." "Much!" I exclaimed; "you may have five hundred if you need it." "You make love very nicely," she replied with aloofness.