That was the nearest she ever came to explaining her relations with Duke Nineveh. She liked to forget him when Teddy was present. It was the ideality of the boy that appealed to her. She wanted to give wisdom to his sentiment, to forewarn his courage and to save him from disappointment It was a strange task for a woman with her record--a woman who had lived garishly, and was remembered for the careers she had ruined. Little by little she drew from him the story of Vashti, and later of Desire. He looked up at her smiling, trying to treat his confession lightly. “Curious how people come into your life and make your dreams for you.” She bent over him, taking his hands gently. “Curious! Not curious. People are the most real dreams we have.” “Yes, but----” He hesitated. “Desire’s not as I remember her any longer. She’s growing up. I wonder what she’s like. If I met her, I might not recognize her. We might pass in the street, my dream and I. And yet----” He lifted his face to hers. “You know I still think of her--of the price. It’s idiotic, because,” his voice fell, “I know nothing about girls.” She drew him closer. “D’you know what women need most in this world? Kindness. Good men, like you’ll be,” she seemed to remember, “they’re harsh sometimes. They make women frightened. A good man’s always better than the best woman--that’s a truth that few people own to themselves. If you do find her or any one else, don’t judge--try to understand.” And later, “Never try to be fair to a woman, Teddy; when a good man tries to be fair, he’s unjust.” From time to time, as they sat together in that locked room, she told him of herself. She gave him glimpses of passion and the despair of its ending. “It doesn’t pay. It doesn’t pay,” was the burden of what she said. One night, it was four years since he had known her, they forgot to turn on the light. Across the ceiling, like a phantom butterfly, the flare from the street-lamps fluttered. “None of those others that I have told you about were love,” she whispered. “There was a good man in my life once. Whenever you see a woman like me, you may be sure of that. It’s the good men who make us women bad; they expect too much--build their dreams too high. There was a man----” She fell silent “You’re like him. That’s why.” When he was leaving, she put her arms about him. “When you find her, don’t try to change her. Women long to be trusted. Be content to love.” For the time being he tried to satisfy his heart-with work. His passion to be famous connected itself with his passion to love. He had an instinct that he must win fame first, and that all the rest would follow. Much of what Madame Josephine told him about women he applied to Vashti. It made him look on all women with new eyes--the eyes of pity for their frailty. And all these emotions he wove about the figure of Desire.