me; but that's all.

* * * * *

In all that fierce madness of debauch, thank God, I retained my honour.
They beguiled me, they tried to lure me into their rooms; but at the
moment I went to enter I recoiled. It was as if an invisible arm
stretched across the doorway and barred me out.

And Blossom, she, too, tried so hard to lure me, and because I resisted
it inflamed her. Half angel, half devil was Blossom, a girl in years,
but woefully wise, a soft siren when pleased, a she-devil when roused.
She made me her special quarry. She fought for me. She drove off all
the other girls. We talked together, we drank together, we "played the
tables" together, but nothing more. She would coax me with the
prettiest gestures, and cajole me with the sweetest endearments; then,
when I steadfastly resisted her, she would fly into a fury and flout me
with the foulness of the stews. She was beautiful, but born to be bad.
No power on heaven or earth could have saved her. Yet in her badness she
was frank, natural and untroubled as a child.

It was in one of the corridors of the dance-hall in the early hours of
the morning. The place was deserted, strewed with debris of the night's
debauch. The air was fetid, and from the gambling-hall down below arose
the shouts of the players. We were up there, Blossom and I. I was in a
strange state of mind, a state bordering on frenzy. Not much longer, I
felt, could I keep up this pace. Something had to happen, and that soon.

She put her arms around me. I could feel her cheek pressed to mine. I
could see her bosom rise and fall.

"Come," she said.

She led me towards her room. No longer was I able to resist. My foot was
on the threshold and I was almost over when----

"Telegram, sir."

It was a messenger. Confusedly I took the flimsy envelope and tore it
open. Blankly I stared at the line of type. I stared like a man in a
dream. I was sober enough now.

"Ain't you coming?" said Blossom, putting her arms round me.

"No," I said hoarsely, "leave me, please leave me. Oh, my God!"

Her face changed, became vindictive, the face of a fury.

"Curse you!" she hissed, gnashing her teeth. "Oh, I knew. It's that
other, that white-faced doll you care for. Look at me! Am I not better
than her? And you scorn me. Oh, I hate you. I'll get even with you and
her. Curse you, curse you----"

She snatched up an empty wine bottle. Swinging it by the neck she struck
me square o