Myra shook her head. "That is making temptation a constraint, when it can never be more than a lure. I must confess I can't get far enough away from the conventional point of view to understand how a young woman like Margaret, who has been lifted and carried and set fairly upon her feet, could be tempted to go back to the utter misery and degradation of the other life."
Constance spoke first to the sophism, and then to the particular instance.
"It is not true that temptation is always a lure. It is oftener a constraint. And you say you can't understand. It is terribly simple. They sin first for a thing which they mistake for love; but after that it is for bread and meat, and surcease from toil which has become a mere frenzied struggle to keep body and soul together. You don't know what it is to be poor, Myra,—with the barriers down. Have you any idea how much Margaret earned last week, working steadily the six days and deep into the nights?"
"Oh, not very much, I suppose. But her necessities are not large."
"Are they not? They are as large as yours or mine. She must eat and drink and have a bed to sleep on and clothes to cover her. And to provide these she was paid three dollars and eighty-five cents for her week's work; and two dollars of that had to go for rent. Is the temptation a lure or a constraint in her case?"
Myra was silenced, if not convinced, and she went back to the fact existent with sympathy no more than seemingly aloof.
"You hinted at Margaret's peculiar besetment in one of your letters. Is that what you have to stay and fight?"
Constance nodded assent.
"I have been hoping you were mistaken. Dick is still loyally incredulous. Isn't there a chance that you or Tommie, or both of you, have taken too much for granted?"