she might be "stringing" me; that she was not as innocent as she
pretended. Her eyes again glanced up, and met mine.

"It is a terrible experience being penniless, and alone," she said with
a shudder. "I can never condemn some forms of evil as I once did, for
now I have felt temptation myself. I--I have even learned to doubt my
own strength of character. I walked past a great hotel last evening,
and looked in through the windows, at the dining-room. It was
brilliant with electric lights, in rose globes over the spotless
tables, and hundreds of people were gathered about eating and drinking.
I had been there myself more than once, yet then I was alone outside,
in the misty street, penniless. I had no strength left, no virtue--I
was in heart a criminal. Have you ever felt that?"

"Yes," I acknowledged, hopeful she would explain further. "I
comprehend fully what you mean. Nature is stronger than any of us when
it comes to the supreme trial."

"I had never known before. It is strange to confess such a thing, but
it is true. I--I do not believe I am weak as compared with others.
Never before have I had any occasion to question the supremacy of my
will, yet I learned a lesson last night--that I am not a saint. I
actually faced crime, and it did not even look horrible to me! it
appeared justified. Even now, sitting here with you, I cannot believe
I was wicked. You will not misconstrue my words, but--but life is not
always the same, is it? How inexpressibly cruel a great city may be
with glaring wealth flaunting itself in the pinched face of poverty.
How can I help being rebellious now that I have seen all this through
hungry eyes?"