full of sorrow.

'My husband drank himself to death,' pursued Victoria in low tones.
'The proprietor of the Rosebud tried to force me to become his toy . . .
perhaps he would have thrown me on the streets if he had had time to
pursue me longer and if I refused myself still . . . because he was my
employer and all is fair in what they call love . . . The customers
bought every day for twopence the right to stare through my openwork
blouse, to touch my hand, to brush my knees with theirs. One, who seemed
above them, tried to break my body into obedience by force . . . Here,
at the P.R.R. I am a toy still, though more of a servant . . . Soon I
shall be a cripple and good neither for servant nor mistress, what will
you do with me?'

Farwell made a despairing gesture with his hand.

'I tell you,' said Victoria with ferocious intensity. 'You're right,
life's a fight and I'm going to win, for my eyes are clear. I have done
with sentiment and sympathy. A man may command respect as a wage earner;
a woman commands nothing but what she can cheat out of men's senses. She
must be rich, she must be economically independent. Then men will crawl
where they hectored, worship that which they burned. And if I must be
dependent to become independent, that is a stage I am ready for.'

'What are you going to do?' asked Farwell.

'I'm going to live with this man,' said Victoria in a frozen voice. 'I
neither love nor hate him. I am going to exploit him, to extort from him
as much of the joy of life as I can, but above all I am going to draw
from him, from others too if I can, as much wealth as I can. I will
store it, hive it bee-like, and when my treasure is great enough I will
consume it. And the world will stand by and shout: hallelujah, a rich
woman cometh into her kingdom.'

Farwell remained silent for a minute.

'You are right,' he said, 'if you must choose, then be strong and carve
your way into freedom. I have not done this, and the world has sucked me
dry. You can still be free, so do not shrink from the means. You are a
woman, your body is your fortune, your only fortune, so transmute it
into gold. You will succeed, you will be rich; and the swine, instead of
trampling on you, will herd round the trough where you scatter pearls.'

He stopped for a moment, slowly puffing at his pipe.

'Women's profession,' he muttered. 'The time will come . . .
but to-day. . . .'

Victoria looked at him, a faint figure in the night. He was