Even suppose that I were as evil as your foul mind sees
me, what right have you to object? Are you so chaste that you dare cast a
stone at me? Am I to have no pleasure in this hell you have made for me
but the horrible pleasure of watching you in the hell you have made for
yourself? Be satisfied that the world does not see your shame--though
it's from no consideration of you, but wholly for myself, that I am
careful. As for my modesty--you know it is not a fad but a necessity."
"That is just it"--he retorted--"it is the way you make a fad of a
necessity! Forced to hide your shoulders, you make a virtue of
concealment. You make capital of the very thing of which you are ashamed."
"And is not that exactly what we all do?" she asked with brutal cynicism.
"Do you not fear the eyes of the world as much as I? Be satisfied that I
play the game of respectability with you--that I give the world no cause
for talk. You may as well be," she finished with devilish frankness, "for
you are past helping yourself in the matter."
As she finished, a servant appeared to announce Mr. Conrad Lagrange; and
the tall, uncouth figure of the novelist stood framed in the doorway; his
sharp eyes regarding them with that peculiar, quizzing, baffling look.
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