She had often wondered, speculated; sometimes dreamily she had endowed him with name and position--with qualities, too--ideal qualities suggested by his air of personal distinction--delightful qualities suggested by his dark, pleasant eyes, and by the slight suspicion of humour lurking so often on the edges of his smoothly shaven lips. He was so clean-looking, so nice--and he had the shoulders and the hands and the features of good breeding! And, after all--after all, he was a gambler!--a derelict whose sinister living was gained by his wits; a trailer and haunter and bleeder of men! Worse--a decoy sent out by others! She had little appetite for luncheon; he seemed to have less. But she remembered that she had never seen him eat very much--and never drink anything stronger than tea. "At least," she thought with a mental quiver, "he has that to his credit." The quiver surprised her; she was scarcely prepared for any emotion concerning him except the natural shock of disillusion and the natural pity of a young girl for anything ignoble and hopelessly unworthy. Hopelessly? She wondered. Was it possible that God could ever find the means of grace for such a man? It _could_ be done, of course; it were a sin for her to doubt it. Yet she could not see how. Still, he was young enough to have parents living somewhere; unmarred enough to invite confidence if he cared to. . . . And suddenly it struck her that to invite confidence was part of his business; his charm part of his terrible equipment. She sat there breathing faster, thinking. His charm was part of his equipment--an infernal weapon! She understood it now. Long since, innocently speculating, she had from the very beginning and without even thinking, conceded to him her confidence in his worthiness. And--the man was a gambler! For a few moments she hated him hotly. After a while there was more sorrow than heat in her hatred, more contempt for his profession than for him. . . . And _somebody_ had led him astray; that was certain, because no man of his age--and appearance--could have deliberately and of his own initiative gone so dreadfully and cruelly wrong in the world. Would God pity him? Would some means be found for his salvation? Would salvation come? It must; she could not doubt it--after she had lifted her eyes once more and looked at him where he sat immersed in his newspaper, a pleasant smile on his lips. A bar of sunlight fell across his head, striping his shoulder; the scarlet flowers on the table were becoming to him. And, oh! he seemed so harmless--so delightfully decent; there where the sunlight fell across his shoulder and spread in a golden net across the white cloth under his elbows. She rose, curiously weary; a lassitude lay upon her as she left the room and went out into the city about her business--which was to see her lawyer concerning the few remaining details of her inheritance.