hemselves
suddenly in the position of this poor girl--in a great city, without
friends, without money, almost without clothes, and exposed to all the
craft of one of those fiends in human form who prey upon our womankind.
Let each one ask herself: Should I have resisted where she fell?"

"It will never do to send that out," said the lady again.

"What is the matter with it, Mrs. Shortman?"

"It's too personal. Think of Lady Maiden, or most of our subscribers.
You can't expect them to imagine themselves like poor Eva. I'm sure they
won't like it."

Gregory clutched at his hair.

"Is it possible they can't stand that?" he said.

"It's only because you've given such horrible details of poor Eva."

Gregory got up and paced the room.

Mrs. Shortman went on

"You've not lived in the country for so long, Mr. Vigil, that you don't
remember. You see, I know. People don't like to be harrowed. Besides,
think how difficult it is for them to imagine themselves in such a
position. It'll only shock them, and do our circulation harm."

Gregory snatched up the page and handed it to the girl who sat at the
typewriter in the corner.

"Read that, please, Miss Mallow."

The girl read without raising her eyes.

"Well, is it what Mrs. Shortman says?"

The girl handed it back with a blush.

"It's perfect, of course, in itself, but I think Mrs. Shortman is right.
It might offend some people."

Gregory went quickly to the window, threw it up, and stood gazing at the
sky. Both women looked at his back.

Mrs. Shortman said gently:

"I would only just alter it like this, from after 'country homes':
'whether they do not pity and forgive this poor girl in a great city,
without friends, without money, almost without clothes, and exposed to
all the craft of one of those fiends in human form who prey upon our
womankind,' and just stop there."

Gregory returned to the table.

"Not 'forgive,"' he said, "not 'forgive'!"

Mrs. Shortman raised her pen.

"You don't know," she said, "what a strong feeling there is. Mind, it
has to go to numbers of parsonages, Mr. Vigil. Our principle has always
been to be very careful. And you have been plainer than usual in
stating the case. It's not as if they really could put themselves in
her position; that's impossible. Not one woman in a hundred could,
especially among those who live in the country and have never seen life.
I'm a squire's daughter myself."

"And I a parson's," said Gregory,