Yes, the truth is, I’m hard and bitter, and I have neither faith nor love for unsuccessful men. I always end by despising them as I despise Casimir. I suppose it’s the savage pride of the female who likes to think the man to whom she has given herself must be a very great chief indeed. But to stew in this disgusting house while Casimir scours the land in the hope of finding one editorial open door—it’s humiliating. It’s changed my whole nature. I wasn’t born for poverty—I only flower among really jolly people, and people who never are worried.” The figure of the strange man rose before her—would not be dismissed. “That was the man for me, after all is said and done—a man without a care—who’d give me everything I want and with whom I’d always feel that sense of life and of being in touch with the world. I never wanted to fight—it was thrust on me. Really, there’s a fount of happiness in me, that is drying up, little by little, in this hateful existence. I’ll be dead if this goes on—and”—she stirred in the bed and flung out her arms—“I want passion, and love, and adventure—I yearn for them. Why should I stay here and rot?—I am rotting!” she cried, comforting herself with the sound of her breaking voice. “But if I tell Casimir all this when he comes this afternoon, and he says, ‘Go’—as he certainly will—that’s another thing I loathe about him—he’s under my thumb—what should I do then—where should I go to?” There was nowhere. “I don’t want to work—or carve out my own path. I want ease and any amount of nursing in the lap of luxury. There is only one thing I’m fitted for, and that is to be a great courtesan.” But she did not know how to go about it. She was frightened to go into the streets—she heard of such awful things happening to those women—men with diseases—or men who didn’t pay—besides, the idea of a strange man every night—no, that was out of the question. “If I’d the clothes I would go to a really good hotel and find some wealthy man... like the strange man this morning. He would be ideal. Oh, if I only had his address—I am sure I would fascinate him. I’d keep him laughing all day—I’d make him give me unlimited money....” At the thought she grew warm and soft. She began to dream of a wonderful house, and of presses full of clothes and of perfumes. She saw herself stepping into carriages—looking at the strange man with a mysterious, voluptuous glance—she practised the glance, lying on the bed—and never another worry, just drugged with happiness. That was the life for her. Well, the thing to do was to let Casimir go on his wild-goose chase that evening, and while he was away—What! Also—please to remember—there was the rent to be paid before twelve next morning, and she hadn’t the money for a square meal. At the thought of food she felt a sharp twinge in her stomach, a sensation as though there were a hand in her stomach, squeezing it dry. She was terribly hungry—all Casimir’s fault—and that man had lived on the fat