"'What have you to offer? Honesty? Character? Decency? Oh, well-hm-hm. Is that all? Then stand in the corner there among the obscure ones. Some one will see you in time--if you live long enough. And the next: What have you to offer? Intelligence; thought? No sale; you make us all feel uncomfortable. Virtue? Tut, tut, my dear! Cleverness, charm, facile smartness? The crowd gathers round. Beauty? The crowd grows thicker. Money--wealth--gold by millions? Ah! Come to our arms, you golden one, rotten to the core though you may be--gentleman with a gorilla's tastes; lady with Madonna face, Venus body, viper soul! Come to the throne; we salaam before you--your gold has made you sacred.' "Oh! The stench of it still is in my nostrils; I still feel thick cold fingers on my bare arms. I once was one of them--serenely satisfied that I was one of the elect of earth, though I had never produced a thing in this world, but only consumed. No right at all to anything and sure I had the right to everything, to consume food, to wear out clothes, to wear out servants. In return I gave--nothing. Not a thing. But I've waked up. Earth--good, black earth--you are greater than Mrs. Butterfly Croesus and all her brood; because you are real. "I see it now. My silly pretty face, my woman's body, my graces, seductions, all have been so much bait for Aunty's fishing. Bait! That's what I've been; bait to catch goldfish! And she brought me down here on the greatest fishing trip she's ever attempted." "But you have a father." "Yes. You will meet him Sunday. Well, I suppose I've bored you terribly. Thank you for your patience. It was a relief to talk to some one." But she did not go. The mystery and companionship of the sub-tropical night was upon them with its sensuous caresses. All of Payne's hard-won man-strength seemed to leave him: he felt as weak as a child; and he began to stammer brokenly. "Anything I can do--if I can help--what you spoke of--Back There in the jungle----?" "No, no. Nobody can help me with that. It's got to be just myself. I know that now." She was the more self-controlled. Payne could not speak. All that he wished to say--his strength, his life, at her call in her hour of need--he expressed in a gesture. "Thank you." She touched his outstretched hand. Instinctively their fingers locked together, instinctively she swayed toward him. "Thank you." He had released her hand. They looked at one another a long time. She smiled a little. "I must go back." She touched his sleeve lightly, mounted and looked down at him. "Can't I help in any way?" he asked. "No one can help me," she whispered. "No one but my own weak self." And the look upon her countenance which had appalled him as she passed through the gate was coming back as she rode away. XXIII