"That's it!" cried the old lady, in high triumph. "We don't any of us know it till they find us out. My dear, it's the most awful system—now, isn't it? You go on as innocent as you please, and suddenly they tell you you're a criminal. It's as if you made up your mouth to whistle, walking along the road, and somebody pounces on you and tells you whistling's against the law and claps you into jail."
Rose was smiling at her now, forgetful, for the moment, of her own coil, Madam Fulton seemed to her so pathetically young and innocent of everything save untamed desires.
"What under heavens does it mean?" Madam Fulton was insisting, with the greatest irritation.
"I must go now," said Rose. "I had to tell you."
Madam Fulton kept the detaining hand upon her knee.
"But where are you going?" she insisted. "Back to France?"
"No, I shall stay in America. I shall sing."
"Do you think anybody'll want to hear you?"
"They'll love to hear me!"
Madam Fulton eyed her smilingly.