ay that makes us so
fond of each other. And I owe it all to you, Lorna. I don't care
what he says, Lorna--or does. I want you."

"Can't go," said Susan, not conscious--yet not unaware,
either--of the curious mixture of heart and art in Etta's
outburst of apparent eagerness to risk everything for love of
her. "Can't possibly go. I've made other plans. The thing for
you is to be straight--get some kind of a job in Detroit--make
Fatty marry you--quick!"

"He would, but his father'd throw him out."

"Not if you were an honest working girl."

"But----" Etta was silent and reflective for a moment. "Men are
so queer," she finally said. "If I'd been an honest working girl
he'd never have noticed me. It's because I am what I am that
I've been able to get acquainted with him and fascinate him. And
he feels it's a sporty thing to do--to marry a fast girl. If I
was to settle down to work, be a regular working girl--why, I'm
afraid he--he'd stop loving me. Then, too, he likes to believe
he's rescuing me from a life of shame. I've watched him close.
I understand him."

"No doubt," said Susan drily.

"Oh, I know you think I'm deceitful. But a woman's got to be,
with a man. And I care a lot about him--aside from the fact that
he can make me comfortable and--and protect me from--from the
streets. If you cared for a man-- No, I guess you wouldn't. You
oughtn't to be so--so _honest_, Lorna. It'll always do you up."

Susan laughed, shrugged her shoulders. "I am what I am," said
she. "I can't be any different. If I tried, I'd only fail worse."

"You don't love John--do you?"

"I like him."

"Then you wouldn't have to do _much_ pretending," urged Etta.
"And what does a little pretending amount to?"

"That's what I say to myself," replied Susan thoughtfully.

"It isn't nearly as bad as--as what we started out to do."

Susan laughed at Etta's little hypocrisy for her
respectability's comfort. "As what we did--and are doing,"
corrected she. Burlingham had taught her that it only makes
things worse and more difficult to lie to oneself about them.

"John's crazy about you. But he hasn't money enough to ask you
to come along. And----" Etta hesitated, eyed Susan doubtfully.
"You're _sure_ you don't love him?"

"No. I couldn't love him any more than--than I could hate him."
Susan's strange look drifted across her features. "It's very
queer, how I feel toward men. But--I don't love him and I shan't