“How any man meeting her as I have you—­in the street at night, under conditions society would frown at—­can still feel for her a profound respect, and pay her the deference which a gentleman must always extend to one he deems worthy.”

For a long moment she did not speak, but withdrew her hand from beneath mine, resting her chin in its palm.

“What is your name?” she asked finally.

“Gordon Craig.”

The lashes drooped quickly, securely shadowing the brown depths, the flush deepening on her cheeks.  In the momentary hush which followed the waiter came shuffling forward with our order.

CHAPTER VII

THE WOMAN’S STORY

I had never supposed I lacked audacity, yet I found it strangely difficult to again pick up our conversation.  This woman puzzled me; was becoming an enigma.  She encouraged me, and yet something about her precluded all familiarity.  I was haunted by the vague suspicion that she might be “stringing” me; that she was not as innocent as she pretended.  Her eyes again glanced up, and met mine.

“It is a terrible experience being penniless, and alone,” she said with a shudder.  “I can never condemn some forms of evil as I once did, for now I have felt temptation myself.  I—­I have even learned to doubt my own strength of character.  I walked past a great hotel last evening, and looked in through the windows, at the dining-room.  It was brilliant with electric lights, in rose globes over the spotless tables, and hundreds of people were gathered about eating and drinking.  I had been there myself more than once, yet then I was alone outside, in the misty street, penniless.  I had no strength left, no virtue—­I was in heart a criminal.  Have you ever felt that?”

“Yes,” I acknowledged, hopeful she would explain further.  “I comprehend fully what you mean.  Nature is stronger than any of us when it comes to the supreme trial.”

“I had never known before.  It is strange to confess such a thing, but it is true.  I—­I do not believe I am weak as compared with others.  Never before have I had any occasion to question the supremacy of my will, yet I learned a lesson last night—­that I am not a saint.  I actually faced crime, and it did not even look horrible to me! it appeared justified.  Even now, sitting here with you, I cannot believe I was wicked.  You will not misconstrue my words, but—­but life is not always the same, is it?  How inexpressibly cruel a great city may be with glaring wealth flaunting itself in the pinched face of poverty.  How can I help being rebellious now that I have seen all this through hungry eyes?”

Her hands were clasped above her plate, the slender fingers intertwined.  I was looking at her so intently forgot to answer.

“I—­I am glad I met you,” she said frankly.  “I—­I think you have saved me from myself.”