"You make me sick! You're only a novice! Lie to all men--they all lie to you. Protect yourself. You seem to think that your happiness depends on this. Now do it. Listen: Don't you realize that you and me, and all the girls that are shoved into this life, are practically the common prey of any man who happens to come along? Don't you know that they've got about as much consideration for us as they have for any pet animal around the house, and the only way that we've got it on the animal is that we've got brains? This is a game, Laura, _not a sentiment_. Do you suppose that Madison--now don't get sore--hasn't turned these tricks himself before he met you, and I'll gamble he's done it since. A man's natural trade is a heartbreaking business. Don't tell me about women breaking men's hearts. The only thing they can ever break is their bankroll. And, besides, this is not Will's business; he has no right to interfere. You've been decent with him, and he's been nice to you; but I don't think that he's given you any the best of it. Now, if you want to leave, and go your own way, and marry any Tom, Dick or Harry that you want to, it's nobody's affair but yours." "But you don't understand--it's John. I can't lie to him," cried Laura. "Well, that's too bad about you. I used to have that truthful habit myself, and the best I ever got was the worst of it. All this talk about love and loyalty and constancy is fine and dandy in a book, but when a girl has to look out for herself, take it from me, whenever you've got that trump card up your sleeve, just play it, and rake in the pot." Taking Laura's hand, she added affectionately: "You know, dearie, you're just about the only one in the world I've left to care for." "Elfie!" cried Laura, taking her companion's hand, sympathetically. Her eyes filled with tears, Elfie put her handkerchief up to her face to conceal her emotion. Under the coarseness and flippancy of the courtesan were glimpses of an unhappy woman, a human being conscious of her own irretrievable degradation. For the first time in years, she was making another the confidant of her life's tragedy, the sad, commonplace story of a woman's ruin. Recovering herself, she went on quickly: