Beth Norvell

"Then tell it to me."

"I will, and without any mincing of words. The Gayety is a mere

adjunct to the Poodle-Dog saloon and the gambling hell up-stairs. They

are so closely connected that on the stage last evening I could easily

hear the click of ivory chips and the clatter of drinking glasses. One

man owns and controls the entire outfit, and employs for his variety

stage any kind of talent which will please the vicious class to which

he caters. All questioning as to morality is thoroughly eliminated.

Did you comprehend this?"

The young girl bowed slightly, her face as grave as his own, and again

colorless, the whiteness of her cheeks a marked contrast to her dark

hair.

"I understood those conditions fully."

"And yet consented to appear there?"

She shook back her slightly disarranged hair, and looked him directly

in the eyes, every line of her face stamped with resolve.

"Mr. Winston, in the first place, I deny your slightest right to

question me in this manner, or to pass moral judgment upon my motives.

I chance to possess a conscience of my own, and your presumption is

almost insulting. While you were absent in pursuit of Albrecht, the

manager of the Gayety, having chanced to learn the straits we were in,

called upon me here with his proposal. It appeared an honorable one,

and the offer was made in a gentlemanly manner. However, I did not

accept at the time, for the plain reason that I had no desire whatever

to appear upon that stage, and in the midst of that unpleasant

environment. I decided to await your return, and learn whether such a

personal sacrifice of pride would be necessary. Now, I believe I

recognize my duty, and am not afraid to perform it, even in the face of

your displeasure. I am going to deliver the parting scene from the

'Heart of the World,' and I do not imagine my auditors will be any the

worse for hearing it. I certainly regret that the Gayety is an adjunct

to a saloon; I should greatly prefer not to appear there, but,

unfortunately, it is the only place offering me work. I may be

compelled to sink a certain false pride in order to accept, but I shall

certainly not sacrifice one iota of my womanhood. You had no cause

even to intimate such a thing."

"Possibly not; yet had you been my sister I should have said the same."

"Undoubtedly, for you view this matter entirely from the standpoint of

the polite world, from the outlook of social respectability, where self

rules every action with the question, 'What will others say?' So

should I two years ago, but conditions have somewhat changed my views.

Professional necessity can never afford to be quite so punctilious,

cannot always choose the nature of its environments: the nurse must

care for the injured, however disagreeable the task; the newspaper

woman must cover her assignment, although it takes her amid filth; and

the actress must thoroughly assume her character, in spite of earlier

prejudices. The woman who deliberately chooses this life must, sooner

or later, adjust herself to its unpleasant requirements; and if her

womanhood remain true, the shallow criticism of others cannot greatly

harm her. I had three alternatives in this case--I could selfishly

accept my handful of money, go to Denver, and leave these other

helpless people here to suffer; I could accept assistance from you, a

comparative stranger; or I could aid them and earn my own way by

assuming an unpleasant task. I chose the last, and my sense of right

upholds me."