“It was more than my young heart could bear. I did not know then that I was just looking for some excuse for stinging him and now it had come. I had never flirted; I had met Mr. Winslow under proper conditions and circumstances. He had always been courteous to me. I had been true to Jamie, though my love had faltered. Next day’s mail brought a letter to my aunt and one to me; the one to aunt was from Jamie. I do not know what it contained, but it was of such a nature that she heaped a tirade of abuse on me.
“‘Just to think!’ said she. ‘I’ve worked and done for you all these years and tried to raise you decent, and done all this for my poor dead sister’s sake, and when I’ve got you fit to marry a good man, you go and spoil it all by takin’ up with a fop you nor the Lord don’t know nothin’ about.’
“The letter which I had tucked away in my bosom was from Mr. Winslow. It stated that he was going to visit in this city and he would be glad to have me join him. ‘I know,’ it said, ‘that you will have to invent some excuse for your absence from home, but that can be arranged by your saying you met my cousin, while in Franklin, and she will write you soon, asking you to spend a week with her in Chicago. She is the wife of a railroad man and will send you transportation.’
“My mind was quickly made up; I would not stand my aunt’s abuse and Jamie’s insults. If Mr. Winslow liked me, as he said, he would probably propose to me and we would get married, ‘so there now.’ That letter was followed two days later by one from Mr. Winslow’s cousin, enclosing a ticket, which auntie did not know from a pass. The invitation was pressing and I came here.”
“But go on,” said I, as the long pause seemed to add solemnity to the stillness. “Tell me more of Jamie, of Winslow and of this,” said I, with a wave of my hand, indicating the interior of the spacious house.
“Be patient,” she said, and then continued.
“Winslow met me at the station, then it was a ceaseless round of theaters, dinners and other amusements, which were new to my unsophisticated mind. His cousin was a myth. The woman who claimed to be his relative was none other than a hireling, who did all in her power to assist him in entrapping me. The speed with which I fell was something terrific; the bottomless pit of Hell was not very far away and I was an easy victim to the seductive plans of my pretended friend. The scene of my defamation is still fresh in my mind. It seems but yesterday, since he called for me at the home of the supposed cousin. Oh, the blackness of that night as it now appears to me, is only intensified and made more dismal, when I think of the lights, the gay music, the finely arrayed women and the entrancing wine; it was a long night of song and revelry, only to end in the beginning of a long day of miserable, torturing, painful existence. That fortress of purity, which is all a girl has upon which she can rely at all times, was stormed. The excitement, the glittering lights, and the enchanting environment added such argument as the man lacked in his make up. I suppose I was an easy victim, wine dulled my senses to such an extent that, as God is my judge, I was not wholly responsible for my acts; when morning came I awoke and knew that the great white star of virginity, which I had heretofore followed, had been transformed into a dull leaden aspect, which would only bespeak for me sullen misery and degradation.”
“Where did it all happen?”
“Right here in this house,” sighed the woman.