“I was at an age to be easily flattered by the admiration of a man of mature years.  He was considerably older than I, always well dressed, versed in social forms, liberal with money, exhibiting a certain dashing recklessness which proved most attractive to all the girls I knew.  Indeed, I think it was largely because of their envy that I was first led to accept his attentions.  However, I was very young, utterly inexperienced, while he was thoroughly versed in every trick by which to interest one of my nature.  He claimed to be a successful dramatist and author, thus adding materially to my conception of his character and capability.  Little by little the man succeeded in weaving about me the web of his fascination, until I was ready for any sacrifice he might propose.  Naturally ardent, easily impressed by outward appearances, assured as to my own and his social position, ignorant of the wiles of the world, I was an easy victim.  Somewhere he had formed the acquaintance of my brother, which fact merely increased my confidence in him.  I need not dwell in detail upon what followed—­the advice of romantic girls, the false counsel of a favorite teacher, the specious lies and explanations accounting for the necessity for secrecy, the fervent pleadings, the protestations, the continual urging, that finally conquered my earlier resolves.  I yielded before the strain, the awakened imagination of a girl of sixteen seeing nothing in the rose-tinted future except happiness.  We were married in Christ Church, Boston, two of my classmates witnessing the ceremony.  Three months later I awoke fully from dreaming, and faced the darkness.”

She leaned against the wall, her face, half hidden, pressed against her arm.  Speaking no word of interruption, Winston clasped her hand and waited, his gray eyes moist.

“He was a professional gambler, a brute, a cruel, cold-blooded coward,” the words dropping from her lips as though they burned in utterance.  “Only at the very first did he make any effort to disguise his nature, or conceal the object of his marriage.  He endeavored to wring money from my people, and—­and struck me when I refused him aid.  He failed because I blocked him; tried blackmail and failed again, although I saved him from exposure.  If he had ever cared for me, by this time his love had changed to dislike or indifference.  He left me for weeks at a time, often alone and in poverty.  My father sought in vain to get me away from him, but—­but I was too proud to confess the truth.  I should have been welcome at home, without him; but I refused to go.  I had made my own choice, had committed the mistake, had done the wrong; I could not bring myself to flee from the result.  I burrowed in the slums where he took me, hiding from all who sought me out.  Yet I lived in an earthly hell, my dream of love dispelled, the despair of life constantly deepening.  I no longer cared for the man—­I despised him, shrank from his presence; yet something more potent than pride kept me loyal.  I believed then, I believe now, in the sacredness of marriage; it was the teaching of my church, of my home; it had become part of my very soul.  To me that formal church wedding typified the solemnity of religion; I durst not prove untrue to vows thus taken; divorce was a thought impossible.”