se
for profitable pursuit of its red-light trade. If, therefore, a woman
stood in need of a certificate of character, all that was necessary was
to say that she lived there.

The back room, which, for nearly six long, weary weeks Laura had
occupied on the second floor was characteristic of the place and the
class of lodgers who lived there. For years the house had been falling
into general decay, with no attempt at repairs. The ceilings were
cracked; the wall-paper was old and spotted, and in places hung down
brazenly in loose flaps. The cheap carpet was worn threadbare, with
here and there large rents, which acted as so many dangerous pitfalls
for the unwary. The furniture, of the cheapest possible description,
comprised a large, old-fashioned wardrobe, for the most part full of
rubbish, a dresser scattered with a few cheap toilet articles, a
broken-down washstand and a three-quarter old wooden bed, which, placed
against the wall right in the center of the room, monopolized most of
the little space there was. At the foot of the bed, a small table,
covered with a soiled and ink-stained cloth, was heaped with newspapers
and magazines; on the right, facing the door, leading to the hall
outside, an old-style mantelpiece surmounted a rusty fireplace. A
single arm gas jet served for illuminating purposes, and in a little
alcove stood a table with a small gas stove connected by rubber tubing
with a gas fixture. There were two windows in the room, opening outward
in the French manner on to a dilapidated balcony which overlooked the
street below.

This was the wretched place for which Laura had given up all her former
ease and magnificence--her $8,000 apartment, her crystal bathtub, her
French maid, her automobile, and every other conceivable luxury. The
descent from affluence to actual want had been gradual, but none the
less swift and sure. It had cost her many a bitter pang, many an hour
of keen humiliation, but she had made the sacrifice willingly,
cheerfully, feeling in her heart that he would wish it and commend her
for it. In all her troubles, John was never for a moment out of her
thoughts. Everywhere about the room were reminders of the man who any
day might return to claim her for his wife. On the dresser stood a
small photograph of him in a cheap frame; tacked over the head of the
bed was a larger portrait. A small bow of dainty blue ribbon at the top
covered the tack, and underneath was a bunch of violets, now wit