lebrate. Dress up in that lacy black thing--you are seduction
itself in it.'

"His praise made me happy and, responding to his mood, I changed my
clothes quickly, and we set forth joyfully in anticipation of a pleasant
evening.

"Everything went well through the dinner, although I hesitated when
Julian ordered wine; but I was afraid to oppose him or to speak a single
jarring word.

"'Drink up, Penny, and have some more. My God, but you are glorious
tonight!' he whispered as he leaned across the table.

"I smiled and emptied my glass, and soon I became as reckless and jovial
as he. We went from one cabaret to another, laughing at everything. All
the world was gay. There was no sorrow anywhere--only one grand
celebration. Julian was never so fascinating. I was proud of his good
looks, of his wit, of his strength as he lifted me from the taxicab and
almost carried me into the house.

"'My darling!' I breathed as my lips brushed his cheek, 'I love you!'

"'You see, Penny, how wonderful everything is when you are reasonable.
If you will only drink with me once in a while, I'll never, never leave
you.'

"He placed me gently in a chair. Soon the room began to whirl around ...
and I knew no more....

"This morning my head ached and a thousand needles were piercing my
eyes. I rang for the maid and asked for my husband.

"'He brought you home last night, but he went out again later and he
hasn't come back,' she said and her eyes did not meet mine.

"'Was I--was I?' I stammered, shame possessing me.

"'Yes, Mrs. Wells, you were....'

"God! What have I gained? I have degraded myself without doing Julian
any good. I have sunk to his level and have not even been able to keep
him at my side. I hate him! I hate myself even more!"

* * * * *

I find a pitiful entry that I made only a few months before Julian was
killed. In a fit of anger he had left me, accusing me of being a drag on
his life, saying that I was to blame for all his follies. He was going
to be rid of me now. So he took all the money in the house and went
off--I should never see him again. At last I had what I had longed for,
my freedom, he had given it to me, flung it in my face. And then--

This is what I wrote six weeks later:

"Well, I'm a failure all right. Never again may I think well of myself
or feel that I am entitled to the joys of life. For I'm just a plain
moral coward. I couldn't even keep what was forced on