"You don't mean," says he, whisperin' husky in my ear, "that you would do anything for such a creature?" "She's on the list, ain't she?" says I. "Ye-e-es," he admits; "but----" "Let's ask the lady herself for a few more details, so we can have something definite to go on," says I. "Excuse us, Mrs. Shaw, for this little side debate; but we ain't quite made up our minds about you yet. Let's see--you was tellin' me about bringin' a breach of promise suit against Pyramid, and how he ran you out of town. You had a good case too, I expect?" "What's the use of lying about it now?" says she. "It was a cheap bluff, that's all; one of Mr. Shaw's brilliant schemes. Oh, he was a schemer, Shaw was! Pretended to be a lawyer, Fletcher did, in those days. He was smooth enough for one, but too lazy. I didn't know that when I married him. What I didn't know about him then! But I learned. He thought he could scare Mr. Gordon into settling for a few thousand. Of course my claim was all bosh. Pyramid Gordon hardly knew I was in his office. Besides, I was married, anyway. He didn't guess that. But the bluff didn't work. We were the ones who were scared; scared stiff, too." "H-m-m-m!" says I. "Not what you might call a pretty affair, was it?" Mrs. Shaw don't wince at that. She just sneers cynical. "Life with Fletcher Shaw wasn't pretty at any stage of the game," says she. "Say, you don't think I picked my career, do you? True, I was only a girl; but I wasn't quite a fool. You will laugh, I suppose, but at twenty-two I had dreams, ambitions. I meant to be a woman doctor. I was teaching physiology and chemistry in a high school up in Connecticut, where I was born. In another year I could have begun my medical course. Then Fletcher came along, with his curly brown hair, his happy, careless smile, and his fascinating way of avoiding the truth. I gave up all my hopes and plans to go with him. That's what a woman does when she marries. I don't know why it should be so, but it is. Take my case: I had more brains, more energy, more character, than he. But he was a man; so I had to live his life. A rotten sort of life it was. And when it was over--well, look at me. I've learned to drink gin and to make a living as a fortune-teller. And the worst of it is, I don't care who knows it. Wanted details, didn't you? Well, you've got 'em." I glances at J. Bayard, and finds him lookin' the other way with his lip curled. You couldn't blame him so much. Listenin' to a female party tell the story of her life ain't inspirin', and we're all apt to duck things of that kind. They may be true; but it's easier and pleasanter to look the other way. As for me, I want to, but can't. I just got to take things as they are and as they come. Forgettin' weeds in the back yard don't get rid of 'em. I'm apt to paw around and see where the roots spread to.