justice, to pass upon the merit of this woman's punishment? Here
again, in this vitiated life, was only to be seen the remorseless working
of law--cause and effect. Crooked! Had not the tree been crooked from
the beginning--incapable of being straightened? She had herself naively
confessed it. Was not the twist ingrained? And if so, where was the
salvation he had preached? There was good in her still,--but what was
"good"? . . . He took no account of his profound compassion.

What comfort could he give her, what hope could he hold out that the
twist, now gnarled and knotted, might be removed, that she might gain
peace of soul and body and the "happiness" of which he had talked with
Alison Parr? . . . He raised his eyes, to discover that the woman's
were fixed upon him, questioningly.

"I suppose I was a fool to tell you," she said, with a shade of her old
bitterness; "it can't do any good." Her next remark was startlingly
astute. "You've found out for yourself, I guess, that all this talk
about heaven and hell and repentance don't amount to anything. Hell
couldn't be any worse than I've been through, no matter how hot it is.
And heaven!" She laughed, burst into tears, and quickly dried them.
"You know the man I've been talking about, that bought me off. I didn't
intend to tell you, but I see you can't help knowing--Eldon Parr. I
don't say he didn't do right from his way of looking at things,--but say,
it wasn't exactly Christian, was it?"

"No," he said, "it wasn't." He bowed his head, and presently, when he
raised it again, he caught something in her look that puzzled and
disturbed him--an element of adoration.

"You're white through and through," she said, slowly and distinctly.

And he knew not how to protest.

"I'll tell you something," she went on, as one who has made a discovery.
"I liked you the first time you came in here--that night--when you wanted
me to be friends; well, there was something that seemed to make it
impossible then. I felt it, if you didn't." She groped for words.
"I can't explain what it was, but now it's gone. You're different.
I think a lot more of you. Maybe it's because of what you did at
Harrod's, sitting down with me and giving me supper when I was so hungry,
and the champagne. You weren't ashamed of me."

"Good God, why should I have been!" he exclaimed.

"You! Why shouldn't you?" she cried fiercely.

"There's hardly a man in that place that wouldn't have been. They all
know me