If she was desperate she was quiet about it--perhaps even at moments a

little incredulous that there actually could be nothing left for her

to live on. It was one of those grotesque episodes that did not seem

to belong in her life--something which ought not--that could not

happen to her. At moments, however, she realised that it had

happened--realised that part of the nightmare had been happening for

some time--that for a good while now, she had always been more or less

hungry, even after a rather reckless orgy on crackers and milk.

Except that she felt a little fatigued there was in her no tendency to

accept the chose arrivee, no acquiescence in the fait accompli,

nothing resembling any bowing of the head, any meek desire to kiss the

rod; only a still resentment, a quiet but steady anger, the new and

cool opportunism that hatches recklessness.

What channel should she choose? That was all that chance had left for

her to decide,--merely what form her recklessness should take.

Whatever of morality had been instinct in the girl now seemed to be in

absolute abeyance. In the extremity of dire necessity, cornered at

last, face to face with a world that threatened her, and watching it

now out of cool, intelligent eyes, she had, without realising it,

slipped back into her ragged childhood.

There was nothing else to slip back to, no training, no discipline, no

foundation other than her companionship with a mother whom she had

loved but who had scarcely done more for her than to respond vaguely

to the frankness of inquiring childhood.

Her childhood had been always a battle--a happy series of conflicts as

she remembered--always a fight among strenuous children to maintain

her feet in her little tattered shoes against rough aggression and

ruthless competition.

And now, under savage pressure, she slipped back again in spirit to

the school-yard, and became a watchful, agile, unmoral thing again--a

creature bent on its own salvation, dedicated to its own survival,

atrociously ready for any emergency, undismayed by anything that might

offer itself, and ready to consider, weigh, and determine any chance

for existence.

Almost every classic alternative in turn presented itself to her as

she lay there considering. She could go out and sell herself. But,

oddly enough, the "easiest way" was not easy for her. And, as a child,

also, a fastidious purity had been instinctive in her, both in body

and mind.

There were other and easier alternatives; she could go on the stage,

or into domestic service, or she could call up Captain Dane and tell

him she was hungry. Or she could let any one of several young men

understand that she was now permanently receptive to dinner

invitations. And she could, if she chose, live on her personal

popularity,--be to one man or to several une maitresse

vierge--manage, contrive, accept, give nothing of consequence.




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