"Does she really love my friend?" "She does. She loves him as few men deserve to be loved--and least of all that man. She loves him, although she knows that her affection is unreturned, unappreciated. For his sake she would sacrifice her own happiness, her own prosperity. Women are foolish creatures, Mr. Carrington, and you men do wisely when you despise them." "I will not enter into the question of my friend's merits," said Victor; "but I know that Madame Durski has won the love of a man who is worthy of any woman's affection--a man who is rich, and can elevate her from her present--doubtful--position." The Frenchman uttered these last words with a great appearance of restraint and hesitation. "Say, miserable position," exclaimed Miss Brewer; "for Paulina Durski's position is the most degraded that a woman--whose life has been comparatively sinless--ever occupied." "And every day its degradation will become more profound," said Victor. "Unless Madame Durski follows my advice, she cannot long remain in England. In her native city she has little to hope for. In Paris, her name has acquired an evil odour. What, then, lies before her?" "Ruin!" exclaimed Miss Brewer, abruptly; "starvation it may be. I know that our race is nearly run, Mr. Carrington. You need not trouble yourself to remind me of our misery." "If I do remind you of it, I only do so in the hope that I may be able to serve you," answered Victor. "I have tasted all the bitterness of poverty, Miss Brewer. Forgive me, if I ask whether you, too, have been acquainted with its sting?" "Have I felt its sting?" cried the poor faded creature. "Who has felt the tooth of the serpent, Poverty, more cruelly than I? It has pierced my very heart. From my childhood I have known nothing but poverty. Shall I tell you my story, Mr. Carrington? I am not apt to speak of myself, or of my youth; but you have evoked the demon, Memory, and I feel a kind of relief in speaking of that long-departed time." "I am deeply interested in all you say, Miss Brewer. Stranger though I am, believe me that my interest is sincere." As Victor Carrington said this, Charlotte Brewer looked at him with a sharp, penetrating glance. She was not a woman to be fooled by shallow hypocrisies. The light of the winter's day was fading; but even in the fading light Victor saw the look of sharp suspicion in her pinched face. "Why should you be interested in me?" she asked, abruptly. "Because I believe you may be useful to me," answered Victor, boldly. "I do not want to deceive you, Miss Brewer. Great triumphs have been achieved by the union of two powerful minds." I know you to possess a powerful mind; I know you to be a woman above ordinary prejudices; and I want you to help me, as I am ready to help you. But you were about to tell me the story of your youth.