“How could you have known that woman? When did you meet?” “Twice,” said David Joslin. “Once was at the dinner of the Company; the next in the morning at her own rooms. That was twice, in New York.” She looked at him, utter scorn upon her face. Her cheeks at last had color. “Don’t be too harsh if you can help it,” he began once more, half raising his hand. “Don’t suspect too much in some ways. In others you can’t suspect enough. You don’t understand—— Well, I was a fool. I was tempted. The Evil One followed me right along all the time from the day I left these mountains. He was right at my side every minute, though I didn’t know it. I reckon it was _you_ that kept him away from me, Ma’am. For me, you have been the power of light. If I had stayed right close to you I’d never had such temptation. The Evil One had his own devices with me—it was—it was the temptation of St. Anthony, Ma’am. I can’t well talk. Can you understand?” “It’s not necessary for me to understand!” said Marcia Haddon in white scorn. “I understand enough already. That woman was my husband’s mistress—everyone knew it except you—or did you know it?” He turned upon her a face now suddenly so horrified in its suffering that even she relented. “I’ve—I’ve been very ignorant, Ma’am,” said he. “I’ve known very little. I—didn’t know that. I thought she was very beautiful and good. Oh, not so beautiful as you, not so good—but what could I know about such things? I’ve never met but three women in my life, you might say. Well, you know the three, and you’re one of the three. You see, I didn’t know much about women, that’s all. Well, what she told me was true.” “But surely you must have known——” “How could I know? How much experience had I? How far had my education gone? I’ve met three women in all my life, I said. I’ve had two years of school. Well, that’s all. That’s my life. It isn’t much. I never knew much of—what you say.” “Often?” asked Marcia Haddon—“How could it have been often that you met her?” “Twice, Ma’am,” said David Joslin. “The last time to say good-by. That was up at Strattonville, not so very long ago. If it hadn’t been for that, I reckon I’d have gone on and finished my college course. I reckon maybe if I hadn’t met her then I could have been a preacher some time—I could have been president of this school—I could have had my life’s ambition and my hope. You say she ruined your life. Didn’t it come to the same thing with me? But I can’t call her bad—surely it wasn’t her fault in the least. I reckon it was the fault of life. But that was why I came back so soon. And that was why I met you when you came in. And you—you are a woman too.... But of another sort, I suppose. Better——” “Did you know,” she said to him after a time, “that the Polly Pendleton Company was backed by my husband’s money all along? He was out on the road for weeks at a time—he practically abandoned me. Well, that was my husband!”