"Yes, a scoundrel!" reiterated the fat head-clerk. "Some scoundrel would
tempt her beyond her power to resist. Money and clothes and luxury will
do anything. We all get to be harlots here in New York. Some of us know
it, and some don't. But we all look it and act it. And she'd go the way
of the rest--with or without marriage. It's just as well she didn't
marry me. I know what'd have become of her."

Norman nodded.

Tetlow gave a weary sigh. "Anyhow, she's safe at home with her father.
He's found a backer for his experiments."

"That's good," said Norman.

"You can spare me for ten days," Tetlow went on. "I'd be of no use if I
stayed."

There was a depth of misery in his kind gray eyes that moved Norman to
get up and lay a friendly hand on his shoulder. "It's the best thing,
old man. She wasn't for you."

Tetlow dropped into a chair and sobbed. "It has killed me," he groaned.
"I don't mean I'll commit suicide or die. I mean I'm dead inside--dead."

"Oh, come, Billy--where's your good sense?"

"I know what I'm talking about," said he. "Norman, God help the man who
meets the woman he really wants--God help him if she doesn't want him.
You don't understand. You'll never have the experience. Any woman you
wanted would be sure to want you."