iette. Could it be possible that a man who was
engaged, whose marriage contract had actually been signed, who was soon
to possess the love of a beautiful and noble girl--that such a man could
have been weak enough and base enough to let himself be trapped into
such a low action?

He went back over the whole series of events, shuddering at them, trying
to realize how they had happened, trying to excuse himself for them.
He had not intended such a culmination; he had never meant to do such a
thing in his life. He had not thought of any harm when he had accepted
the invitation to the supper party with his old companions from the law
school. Of course, he had known that several of these chums led "fast"
lives--but, then, surely a fellow could go to a friend's rooms for a
lark without harm!

He remembered the girl who had sat by his side at the table. She had
come with a friend who was a married woman, and so he had assumed that
she was all right. George remembered how embarrassed he had been when
first he had noticed her glances at him. But then the wine had begun
to go to his head--he was one of those unfortunate wretches who cannot
drink wine at all. He had offered to take the girl home in a cab, and on
the way he had lost his head.

Oh! What a wretched thing it was. He could hardly believe that it was he
who had spoken those frenzied words; and yet he must have spoken them,
because he remembered them. He remembered that it had taken a long
time to persuade her. He had had to promise her a ring like the one her
married friend wore. Before they entered her home she had made him take
off his shoes, so that the porter might not hear them. This had struck
George particularly, because, even flushed with excitement as he was,
he had not forgotten the warnings his father had given him as to the
dangers of contact with strange women. He had thought to himself, "This
girl must be safe. It is probably the first time she has ever done such
a thing."

But now George could get but little consolation out of that idea. He
was suffering intensely--the emotion described by the poet in the bitter
words about "Time's moving finger having writ." His mind, seeking some
explanation, some justification, went back to the events before that
night. With a sudden pang of yearning, he thought of Lizette. She was a
decent girl, and had kept him decent, and he was lonely without her. He
had been so afraid of being found out that he had given her u