a crime.

"Isn't that splendid!" cried Susan, kissing her. "I thought he
would. He fell in love with you at first sight."

"That's what he says. But, Lorna--I--I don't know _what_ to do!"

"_Do_? Why, go. What else is there? Go, of course."

"Oh, no, Lorna," protested Etta. "I couldn't leave you. I
couldn't get along without you."

"But you must go. Don't you love him?"

Etta began to weep. "That's the worst of it. I do love him so!
And I think he loves me--and might marry me and make me a good
woman again. . . . You mustn't ever tell John or anybody about
that--that dreadful man I went with--will you, dear?"

"What do you take me for?" said Susan.

"I've told Fatty I was a good girl until I met him. You haven't
told John about yourself?" Susan shook her head.

"I suppose not. You're so secretive. You really think I ought to go?"

"I know it."

Etta was offended by Susan's positive, practical tone. "I don't
believe you care."

"Yes, I care," said Susan. "But you're right to follow the man
you love. Besides, there's nothing so good in sight here."

"What'll _you_ do? Oh, I can't go, Lorna!"

"Now, Etta," said Susan calmly, "don't talk nonsense. I'll get
along all right."

"You come to Detroit. You could find a job there, and we could
live together."

"Would Fatty like that?"

Etta flushed and glanced away. Young Gulick had soon decided
that Susan was the stronger--therefore, the less "womanly"--of
the two girls, and must be the evil influence over her whom he
had appeared just in time to save. When he said this to Etta,
she protested--not very vigorously, because she wished him to
think her really almost innocent. She wasn't _quite_ easy in her
mind as to whether she had been loyal to Lorna. But, being
normally human, she soon _almost_ convinced herself that but for
Lorna she never would have made the awful venture. Anyhow, since
it would help her with Gulick and wouldn't do Lorna the least
mite of harm, why not let him think he was right?

Said Susan: "Hasn't he been talking to you about getting away
from--from all this?"

"But I don't care," cried Etta, moved to an outburst of
frankness by her sense of security in Susan's loyalty and
generosity. "He doesn't understand. Men are fools about women.
He thinks he likes in me what I haven't got at all. As a matter
of fact if I had been what he made me tell him I was, why we'd
never have met--or got acquainted in the w