ry hard on women like her, women
who have had to hew their own way in the world, and meet temptation
almost before"--her voice quivered a little--"they knew what temptation
meant."

He looked down at her again suddenly and searchingly; but her clear eyes
never flinched from his. They were pleading and a little troubled, but
wholly unafraid.

"Perhaps you won't believe me," she said. "You'll think you know best.
But Rosa Mundi wasn't bad always--not at the beginning. Her dancing
began when she was young--oh, younger than I am. It was a dreadful
uphill fight. She had a mother then--a mother she adored. Did you ever
have a mother like that, I wonder? Perhaps it isn't the same with men,
but there are some women who would gladly die for their mothers.
And--and Rosa Mundi felt like that. A time came when her mother was
dying of a slow disease, and she needed things--many things. Rosa Mundi
wasn't a success then. She hadn't had her chance. But there was a man--a
man with money and influence--who was willing to offer it to
her--at--at--a price. She was dancing for chance coppers outside a San
Francisco saloon when first he made his offer. She--refused."

Rosemary's soft eyes were suddenly lowered. She did not look like a
child any longer, but a being sexless, yet very pitiful--an angel about
to weep.

Courteney watched her, for he could not turn away.

Almost under her breath, she went on: "A few days later her mother began
to suffer--oh, terribly. There was no money, no one to help. She went
again and danced at the saloon entrance. He--the man--was there. She
danced till she was tired out. And then--and then--she was hungry,
too--she fainted." The low voice sank a little lower. "When she came to
herself, she was in his keeping. He was very kind to her--too kind. Her
strength was gone, and--and temptation is harder to resist when one is
physically weak too. When she went back to her mother she had
accepted--his--offer. From that night her fortune was made."

Two tears gathered on the dark lashes and hung there till she put up a
quick hand and brushed them away.

The man's face was curiously softened; he looked as if he desired to dry
those tears himself.

Without looking up she continued. "The mother died--very, very soon.
Life is like that. Often one pays--in vain. There is no bargaining with
death. But at least she never knew. That was Rosa Mundi's only comfort.
There was no turning back for her then. And she was so