Beth Norvell

The young man flushed to the roots of his fair hair, his teeth meeting

firmly.

"There is no 'good angel' of the Gayety--the very atmosphere of that

place would soil an angel's wing," he exclaimed hotly. "Besides, you

are not driven by necessity to any such choice. There is another way

out. As you gently suggested, I am a mining engineer possessing a bank

account at Denver. I will most gladly draw a sight draft to-morrow,

and pay your expenses back to that city, if you will only accept my

offer. Is this fair?"

"Perfectly so; yet supposing I refuse?"

"And deliberately choose the Gayety instead?"

"Yes, and deliberately choose the Gayety instead--what then?"

She asked the momentous question calmly enough, her mouth rigid, her

eyes challenging him to speak the whole truth. He moistened his dry

lips, realizing that he was being forced into an apparently brutal

bluntness he had sincerely hoped to avoid.

"Then," he replied, with quiet impressiveness, "I fear such deliberate

action would forfeit my respect."

She went instantly white before the blow of these unexpected words, her

fingers clasping the door, her eyes as full of physical pain as if he

had struck her with clinched hand.

"Forfeit your respect!" she echoed, the slender figure quivering, the

voice tremulous. "Rather should I forever forfeit my own, were I to

accept your proffer of money." Her form straightened, a slight tinge

of color rising to the cheeks. "You totally mistake my character. I

have never been accustomed to listening to such words, Mr. Winston, nor

do I now believe I merit them. I choose to earn my own living, and I

retain my own self-respect, even although while doing this I am

unfortunate enough to forfeit yours."

"But, Miss Norvell, do you realize what the Gayety is?"

"Not being deprived of all my natural powers of observation, I most

certainly believe I do--we were there together last evening."

She puzzled, confused him, outwardly appearing to trifle with those

matters which seemed to his mind most gravely serious. Yet, his was a

dogged resolution that would not easily confess defeat.

"Miss Norvell," he began firmly, and in the depth of his earnestness he

touched her hand where it yet clung to the door, "I may, indeed, be

presuming upon an exceedingly brief friendship, but my sole excuse must

be the very serious interest I feel in you, especially in your

undoubted ability and future as an actress. It is always a great

misfortune for any man to repose trust and confidence in the character

of a woman, and then suddenly awaken to discover himself deceived.

Under these circumstances I should be unworthy of friendship did I fail

in plain speaking. To me, your reckless acceptance of this chance

engagement at the Gayety seems inexpressibly degrading; it is a

lowering of every ideal with which my imagination has heretofore

invested your character. I am not puritanical, but I confess having

held you to a higher plane than others of my acquaintance, and I find

it hard to realize my evident mistake. Yet, surely, you cannot fully

comprehend what it is you are choosing, I was with you last night,

true, but I considered it no honor to appear upon that stage, even

with the 'Heart of the World,' and it hurt me even then to behold you

in the midst of such surroundings. But deliberately to take part in

the regular variety bill is a vastly more serious matter. It is almost

a total surrender to evil, and involves a daily and nightly association

with vice which cannot but prove most repugnant to true womanhood.

Surely, you do not know the true nature of this place?"