“No,” he said, “I don’t.” She shook her head. “You couldn’t understand,” she said. “But I’ve made up my mind to one thing; even if my soul has perished, my body shall not die for a long, long time. I mean to live,” she added. “I shall not let my body be slain! They shall not steal life from me, whatever they have done to my soul——” “What in heaven’s name are you talking about?” he exclaimed. “Do you actually believe in soul-snatchers and life-stealers?” She seemed sullen, her profile turned to him, her eyes on the brilliantly lighted avenue up which they were speeding. After a while: “I’d rather live decently and respectably if I can,” she said. “That is the natural desire of any girl, I suppose. But if I can’t, nevertheless I shall beat off death at any cost. And whatever the price of life is, I shall pay it. Because I am absolutely determined to go on living. And if I can’t provide the means I’ll have to let some man do it, I suppose.” “It’s a good thing it was I who found you when you were out of a job,” he remarked coldly. “I hope so,” she said. “Even in the beginning I didn’t really believe you meant to be impertinent”—a tragic smile touched her lips—“and I was almost sorry——” “Are you quite crazy?” he demanded. “No, my mind is untouched. It’s my soul that’s gone.... Do you know I was very hungry when you spoke to me? The management wouldn’t advance anything, and my last money went for my room.... Last Monday I had three dollars to face the future—and no job. I spent the last of it to-night on violets, orange juice and cakes. My furs and my gold bag remain. I can go two months more on them. Then it’s a job or——.” She shrugged and buried her nose in her violets. “Suppose I advance you a month’s salary?” he said. “What am I to do for it?” The taxi stopped at a florist’s on the corner of Madison Avenue and 58th Street. Overhead were apartments. There was no elevator—merely the street door to unlock and four dim flights of stairs rising steeply to the top. He lived on the top floor. As they paused before his door in the dim corridor: “Are you afraid?” he asked. She came nearer, laid a hand on his arm: “Are _you_ afraid?” He stood silent, the latch-key in his hand. “I’m not afraid of myself—if that is what you mean,” he said. “That is partly what I mean ... you’ll have to mount guard over your soul.” “I’ll look out for my soul,” he retorted dryly. “Do so. I lost mine. I—I would not wish any harm to yours through our companionship.” “Don’t you worry about my soul,” he remarked, fitting the key to the lock. But again her hand fell on his wrist: “Wait. I can’t—can’t help warning you. Neither your soul nor your body are safe if—if you ever do make of me a companion. I’ve _got_ to tell you this!” “What are you talking about?” he demanded bluntly.