y yet
quenched.

"You are kind enough to wish to know about me; and too well bred to
ask--now that the time is come. Shall I speak of myself?"

Her voiceless lips found a word.

"Then--_It_ began in college--after my uncle died and left nothing for me
to go on with. . . . I worked my way through--by my wits. . . . Up to
that time it was only luck and card-sense--and luck again--the ability to
hold the best cards at the best time--hold them honestly, I mean. It
happens--I don't know why or what laws govern it. Some men hold
them--always hold them--with intervals of bad fortune--but only
intervals."

He gazed thoughtfully at the rag carpet, passed a well-shaped hand over
his forehead.

"Yes, it is the truth. . . . And so, Fortune linked arms with me . . .
and I drifted into it--gradually--not all at once . . . lower--always a
little lower--until--what _you_ saw occurred."

She would not meet his eyes, perhaps with an idea of sparing him.

He said: "You know nothing of such things, of course. . . . I am--on a
commission basis for doing what--they threw me out of that hotel for
doing. . . . Of course, a man can fall lower--but not much lower. . . .
The business from which I receive commissions is not honest--a square
game, as they say. Some games may be square for a while; no games are
perfectly square all the time. . . . I have heard of honest gamblers; I
never saw one. . . . There may be some; but I'm afraid they're like good
Indians. . . . And that is the way in which Life and I are situated."

After a while she managed to look at him.

"Could you tell me--are you--your circumstances----"

"I am not in want," he said gently.

"Then it is not--not necessity----"

"No. It is easier and more interesting than for me to earn a decent
living."

"Is that the only reason?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Have you no--regrets?"

"Sometimes. . . . I am not immune to shame. . . . I wonder whether you
know what it cost me to come here."

A dull flush mounted to his forehead, but he faced her steadily enough.

"You saw me kicked out of a hotel by an Irish servant because I was not
fit to be tolerated among reputable people. . . . And you did not pass by
on the other side. . . . Under your clear eyes my spirit died a thousand
shameful deaths while I went with you to your destination. . . . The
contempt of the whole world burnt me; and your compassion drove every
flame into me----" He checked himself, swallowed, forced a