She proffered her neck towards him. Dump popped his head into the cage. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. His sword-arm fell useless at his side and she knew herself safe. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. ” “And in Paris——” “In Paris,” he interrupted, “she was a very delightful companion, but beyond that —one did not take her seriously. Always. She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women. Take me with you. On the other hand, there was a subconscious impression that she would be able to read instantly anything unclean in a man's eye. Presently he heard her voice. She was consumed by misery and hate. And nearly all these things were fearfully ill-paid.
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