"He--O.... Yes, he's married--in a way. His wife and he have not really lived together for years. For the sake of the family they keep up appearances.... She doesn't understand him...." "Did _he_ tell you that--and you _believe_ it?" "But I know it's true! You'd believe it, too, if ever you were to see her. He married her when he was young and poor." "I presume they loved each other then; she probably pinched and scrimped in those days to help him--to help him get where he is to-day." "I don't know anything about that, of course. But I do know that I admire him; he has a wonderful mind. It's a privilege to be associated with a man like him. If you knew him, you would not think so badly of the--the arrangement." I left my chair to sit beside her on the couch. "Dear girl," I said, slipping my hand in hers, "Don't misunderstand me. I'm not sitting in judgment, neither am I criticizing you. But I want you to think of the future. Have you ever thought of the time when you will be no longer young? Have you never observed that type of woman one finds hanging around restaurants or hotel corridors, hoping to pick up a man, any man, it doesn't matter what kind of a man so long as he has a little money? These women are getting along in years, taking on flesh, hiding the ravages of time and dissipation with rouge, hair-dyes and more dissipation. They are fighting life and getting the worst of it, having put into life only their worst: thrown from one man's arms into another's: down the line--always down grade, lower and lower until--until what remains? The streets, the work-house, or suicide.... Have you thought of that?" "No! _No! No!_--and I don't want to think of it!" She pounded her fists vehemently together.... "I'm tired of thinking of the future! I've done nothing all my life but think and live in the future--and now I'm going to get what there is--all there is--out of the present, if it's only a pretty gown, only a bright flower! What incentive has a girl like me to be good? Go away! Go away, please, and don't bother about me!" ... As I walked up Fifth Avenue on my way home, the shops and various dressmaking establishments were disgorging their workers: pale girls, for the most part, poorly clad. Here and there one prettier than the rest, showing in her dress the innate love of display; passing the well-dressed saunterer along the way with a pert glance, an inviting eye; dreaming of the silks she had handled all day; longing for the comforts of life which money alone can buy.... After all, is it a question of morals or economics which leads these girls astray? As my little friend had put it, "What incentive have they to go straight?" CHAPTER XVIII