e.

Every movement he made had long since fascinated her; his unconscious
grace had been, to her, the unstudied assurance of a man of the world
bred to a social environment about which she knew only through reading.

Never had she seen him but straightway she began to wonder who and what
exalted person in the unknown metropolitan social circle he might be.

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 a