wn prison. She understood clearly that only love could have
justified her--no other motive than that. She saw the evil of fastening
her past to an honourable man whose good name and family demanded of him
something better. She felt as if the writer had torn aside a veil and
shown her her naked soul. And--and--though the book was a good book, and
did not condemn sinners--she was shocked, she was horrified, at what it
made her see."

Rosemary suddenly closed her hand upon the shining stone, and turned
fully and resolutely to the man beside her.

"That night changed Rosa Mundi," she said; "changed her completely.
Before it was over she wrote to the young man who loved her and told him
that she could not marry him. The letter did not go till the following
evening. She kept it back for a few hours--in case she repented.
But--though she suffered--she did not repent. In the evening she had an
engagement to dance. The young man was there--in the front row. And he
brought his friend. She danced. Her dancing was superb that night. She
had a passionate desire to bewitch the man who had waked her soul--as
she had bewitched so many others. She had never met a man she could not
conquer. She was determined to conquer him. Was it wrong? Anyway, it was
human. She danced till her very heart was on fire, danced till she trod
the clouds. Her audience went mad with the delight of it. They raved as
if they were intoxicated. All but one man! All but one man! And he--at
the end--he looked her just once in the eyes, stonily, piercingly, and
went away." She uttered a sharp, choking breath. "I have nearly done,"
she said. "Can you guess what happened then? Perhaps you know. The man
who loved her received her letter when he got back that night.
And--and--she had bewitched him, remember; he--shot himself. The
friend--the writer--she never saw again. But--but--Rosa Mundi has never
forgotten him. She carries him in her heart--the man who taught her the
meaning of life."

She ceased to speak, and suddenly, like a boy, sprang to her feet,
tossing away the stone that she had treasured in her hand.

But the man was almost as quick as she. He caught her by the shoulder as
he rose. "Wait!" he said. "Wait!" His voice rang hard, but there was no
hardness in his eyes. "Tell me--who you are!"

She lifted her eyes to his fearlessly, without shame. "What does it
matter who I am?" she said. "What does it matter? I have told you I am
Rosemary. That is her nam