“You can do as you like,” he said at last, and added formally, “May I smoke?”

She nodded.  “Yes, I would like you to.  It will keep you from being bored.  I want to tell you about Rosa Mundi, because you do not judge her fairly.  You only know her by repute, and I—­I know her heart to heart.”

Her voice deepened suddenly, and the man glanced downwards for an instant, but immediately looked away again.  She should tell him what she would, but by no faintest sign should she imagine that she had succeeded in arousing his interest.  The magnetism was drawing him.  He was aware of the attraction, and with firmness he resisted it.  Let her strive as she would, she would never persuade him to think kindly of Rosa Mundi.

“You think her—­bad,” said Rosemary, her voice pitched very low.  “I know—­oh, I know.  Men—­some men—­are very hard on women like her, women who have had to hew their own way in the world, and meet temptation almost before”—­her voice quivered a little—­“they knew what temptation meant.”

He looked down at her again suddenly and searchingly; but her clear eyes never flinched from his.  They were pleading and a little troubled, but wholly unafraid.

“Perhaps you won’t believe me,” she said.  “You’ll think you know best.  But Rosa Mundi wasn’t bad always—­not at the beginning.  Her dancing began when she was young—­oh, younger than I am.  It was a dreadful uphill fight.  She had a mother then—­a mother she adored.  Did you ever have a mother like that, I wonder?  Perhaps it isn’t the same with men, but there are some women who would gladly die for their mothers.  And—­and Rosa Mundi felt like that.  A time came when her mother was dying of a slow disease, and she needed things—­many things.  Rosa Mundi wasn’t a success then.  She hadn’t had her chance.  But there was a man—­a man with money and influence—­who was willing to offer it to her—­at—­at—­a price.  She was dancing for chance coppers outside a San Francisco saloon when first he made his offer.  She—­refused.”

Rosemary’s soft eyes were suddenly lowered.  She did not look like a child any longer, but a being sexless, yet very pitiful—­an angel about to weep.

Courteney watched her, for he could not turn away.

Almost under her breath, she went on:  “A few days later her mother began to suffer—­oh, terribly.  There was no money, no one to help.  She went again and danced at the saloon entrance.  He—­the man—­was there.  She danced till she was tired out.  And then—­and then—­she was hungry, too—­she fainted.”  The low voice sank a little lower.  “When she came to herself, she was in his keeping.  He was very kind to her—­too kind.  Her strength was gone, and—­and temptation is harder to resist when one is physically weak too.  When she went back to her mother she had accepted—­his—­offer.  From that night her fortune was made.”

Two tears gathered on the dark lashes and hung there till she put up a quick hand and brushed them away.