“I hadn’t supposed such things could be,” she said.  “He was very impersonal about it all—­and he grew enthusiastic as he outlined what he wanted.”  Her words came slowly in a detached voice, though as she spoke her delicate features responded to the shiver of disgust that ran through her shoulders and at times her lips quivered.  “He wanted me to write it all—­telling about every man abroad, especially with a title, who had ever—­been nice to me.  He wanted pictures of me; all sorts of pictures, in evening-gowns, in polo togs—­in bathing-suits.  He wanted a chapter on how much my clothes used to cost—­all my clothes.  He said the women would ‘eat that up.’” She stopped and a wan smile crept into her eyes, as she added, “I am using his words, Mr. Smitherton.  But I could stand that.  I sat through it.  I couldn’t afford to lose any chance if it was a chance I might decently take.  But it was when he wanted his picture, too, Jefferson’s—­”

She had to stop there for a moment and a mist came to her eyes which she resolutely kept from overflowing in actual tears as she went on.  “It was when he wanted me to write down all his words and publish his letters that I realized I couldn’t fight even starvation that way.”

“The damned brute!” muttered Smitherton.  “The unspeakable beast!”

“To do him justice,” admitted the girl generously, “I think he forgot, in visualizing those pages which the women would ‘eat up,’ that it was actually me he was talking to—­it was just outlining work to a reporter.  He said something about ‘sob-stuff,’ too.  To me, Mr. Smitherton, he spoke of all these terrible, hideous things, that I lie awake remembering, as ’sob-stuff’—­and I knew that the worst of them were times that made sobs impossible—­when even tears wouldn’t come.”

“I had no idea it had been that bad.”  Smitherton’s sympathy was genuine and spontaneous.

“It was worse even,” she went on.  “He spoke of that—­that afternoon when I read the ticker tape—­and knew what had happened.  He said that, properly colored, that would make a—­a great scene.  He said it had drama.”  Her voice choked, then she added:  “So you see your suggestion will be a hard one for me to take.  I should feel like—­like Godiva riding through the streets.  And yet for her own people Judith went to the tent of Holofernes.  That wasn’t easy, either.”

They rose from the table and went out, and the girl held out her hand.  “Please don’t think that I am unappreciative,” she pleaded.  “I know how kind you have been—­and I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.  You said I could trust you, and now I know it, too.  If—­” her voice broke, but her chin came up—­“if I’m driven to it, I’ll let you know—­and be very grateful.”

“Don’t let any one else talk to you,” he cautioned.  “Remember that this is the capital of sharks.  Now I’m going to call a taxi’, and take you home.”