"And what harm in that?" cried Clem, staunchly. "When Cinthie is twelve, will you want her to be thinking of lover's caresses?"
"You would not have been, either, if you'd had a mother's caresses. Your nature was starving for love, poor child!"
"You have a tender heart for sinners."
"I don't consider you a very bad sinner, darling."
"You don't know all the lies yet.... I am going to tell you something of what the last three years have been ... three years of lying to get a living ... lying to get money: the stage, governessing, serving in shops, nursing invalids, reading to old women ... there was a great variety about my rôles in life, Clem, except for one faithful detail.... Everywhere I went and in everything I undertook, a man cropped up and stood in the path. There was something special about me, it seemed, that brought them unerringly my way—nothing less than my wonderful innocence. That drew them as the magnet draws steel ... lured them like a new gold-diggings.... And they all wanted to open the portals of knowledge for me ... to show me the golden way into the wondrous city of Love. And I?... I had the mouth and eyes of a saint! Sin was not for me.... I was pure as the untrodden snow! I looked into their eyes and asked them to spare me ... I told them I was good and adjured them by their mothers to leave me so. At first they were always deeply impressed, but later they became slightly bored.... The affair nearly always ended in weariness and a promise on my part never to forget that I had a real friend if I should ever want one, and I understood very well what that meant, but invariably I pretended that I did not, and went my way innocent-eyed.... But there were variations on this ... sometimes they insisted on showing me devoted friendship in the meantime ... and their purses were to hand. In such cases I always helped myself liberally ... I had an unerring instinct that I should shortly be seeking a new home—a new friend ... and that instinct never played me false ... soon I was on the 'out trail' once more, looking for a way to earn a living and stay pure and innocent. Once I was almost content with an old woman. I washed her and dressed her, and, incidentally, was sworn at by her ... but the salary was high.... Alas! like the widow of Nain she had an only son ... a decent boy, too ... but when he had looked into my eyes and found me good, there was the old tale to tell.... He used to give me lovely presents ... I was never too good to take presents, Clem—under protest.... He wanted to marry me, but marriage was not in my plan ... then the old mother found out, and I had to go. Another man in Birmingham, whose children I taught, gave me hundreds—just for being good! would have given me thousands only that his wife read memoranda of some sum once and flew to the worst conclusions ... she believed I had stolen her husband and was as bad as I could be ... no one could be surprised at what she called me ... but it was quite untrue in its literal meaning. I had to go back to London, and there was nothing at first to go back to but the stage.... I did not stay there long ... innocence is not very valuable on the stage—except in the play!... and though I have a special talent for acting off the stage, I am too nervous on it to open my lips ... so there was no hope for advancement that way ... I had to begin again on the old round."
"But, Poppy, dear, forgive me, I can't understand—why? why?... what was it all for?"
"For money, Clem. I wanted money."
"I can't believe it!—Oh! not for money!"
"Yes; for money. Some women are bad for money; there is nothing they will not do to get gold in their hands. I was good for money ... a saint, an angel, a virgin—most especially a virgin."
"Don't hurt me like this," Clem said. "Whatever you say can make no difference to me. I will love you. I will be your friend. But—is there anything in the world that money can get that was worth it all? I ask out of sheer curiosity—is there?"