und
about her head, her shoulders rising wearily with each breath that
she took.

Long after Janet had fallen asleep, and when the cold was numbing
in her limbs, she stayed there, pouring forth her importunate
questions--the woman begging guidance, when she knows full well what
course she is going to adopt.

CHAPTER IX

The life of the Bohemian in London is no brilliantly coloured affair.
The most that can be said for it is that it has its moments. The first
flush of a full purse and the last despair of an empty pocket are
always sensations that are worth while. With the one you can gauge
the shallow depth of pleasure and find the world full of friends;
with the other you can learn how superfluous are the things you called
necessities and you may count upon the fingers of your hand the number
of friends whom really you possess. In their way, these moments are
true values--both of them.

But the life of the Bohemian, wherever it may be, has one advantage
that no other life possesses. It is a series of contrasts. With his
last sovereign, he may have supper at the Savoy, rubbing shoulders
with the best and with the worst; the next night, he may be dining
off a _maquereau grille_ in a Greek Street restaurant, jogging elbows
with the worst and with the best. It is only the steady possession
of wealth that makes a groove; but steady possession is an unknown
condition in the life of the Bohemian. And so, drifting in this
sporadic way through the wild journeys of existence, he comes truly
to learn the definite, certain uncertainty of human things. This he
learns; but it is no sure guarantee that he will follow the teaching
of the lesson.

For in the heart of human nature is a common need of bondage. To this,
no matter what movement may be afoot, a woman still yields herself
willingly. To this, in deep reluctance, with dragging steps, but none
the less inevitably, man yields as well. The desire for companionship,
the desire to give, albeit there may be no giving in return, the
shuddering sense of the empty room and the silent night come to all
of us, however much we may wish for the former conditions of solitude
when once they are ours.

It was this common need of bondage, this hatred of the silent
emptiness of life that caught the mind of Jack Traill, arrested and
held it in the interest of Sally Bishop.

You are never really to know why a man, passing through life, meeting
this woman, meeting that, some inti