"It's in the air, here—the gambling instinct is paramount!" he said. "Almost everybody gambles in San Francisco. You know that well enough. You can almost hear the rattle of the slot-machines on the cigar-stand at the corner, down there. It's that way all over town. The gold-fever has never died out. Every one speculates or plays the races or bets on ball games or on the prize-fights, or plays faro or poker or bridge—or, at least, makes love. They're all superstitious, all credulous, all willing to take risks and chances, and so the mediums thrive. Tips are sought for and paid for. Every one wants to get rich quickly and not always scrupulously. It's not a city of healthy growth; it's a town of surprises, of magic and madness and rank enthusiasms. We pretended to show them the short cuts to success, that's all. You know, perhaps, how the money-getting ability can eclipse all other faculties, and you won't be surprised when I tell you that we made large sums from men of wealth and prominence—they were the easiest of the lot, usually."
She brought him back to his story. "Of course I understood from what I heard, that you had been an accomplice of these mediums. I don't think you need to go into that."
"Oh, you don't know all! It will sicken you to have me go into the actual details, but I want you to know the worst. I think I must tell you, lest others may. One picture will be enough to make you see how vulgar and despicable I had become in that epoch. You'd never get to the sordidness of it unless I told you in so many words. Do you think you can stand it? You may not want ever to know me again. God! I don't know whether I can tell you or not! It's terrible to have to sully you with the description of it!"
For a moment she faltered, gazing at him, trembling. Her eyes sought his and left them, often, as she spoke. "You don't mean—I've heard that some of these mediums—the vilest of them—don't hesitate to—take advantage of the sensual weakness of their patrons—that they—Oh, don't tell me that you ever had any part in that!" She covered her face.
He walked over to her and pulled her hands away, looking down into her eyes. "Do you think I would ever have kissed you if I had?" he said. "No, there were depths I didn't fall to, after all. Oh, I've had my way with women often enough; but not that way."
She threw off her fears with a gesture of relief, and her mood changed. "I believe you. But don't tell me any more, please. I think I know, in a way, just about what you were capable of, and some things I couldn't bear to think about. But my reason has always fought against my intuition whenever I suspected you of any real dishonor. Thank Heaven I shall never have to do so again! I think I was wise enough to see how, in all this, you had the inclinations without the opportunities for better things. You were a victim of your environment. Spare me any more. I can't bear to see you abase yourself so. I am so sure you have outlived all this. It's all over. I have told you that I love you. I shall always love you!"
He yearned for her—for the peace and support that she could give him at this crisis, but his pride was too hot, yet, for him to accept it; he had not finished his confession. She was still on a pedestal—he admired and respected her, but she was above his reach. He could not quite believe that hint in her eyes, for her halo blinded him. She was still princess, seeress, goddess—not yet a woman he could take fearlessly to his arms. His hesitation at her advances, therefore, was reluctant, almost coy. He did not wish to take her from her niche; he must first receive absolution. After that—he dared not think. She had allured him in the first stages of his acquaintance, she still allured him; but her spiritual attributes dominated him. "I think I am another man, now," he said, "but my repentance is scarcely an hour old. It is too young; it has not yet proved itself. It's not fair for me to accept all you can give for the little I can return. I must meet you as an equal."
She looked at him calmly. "It is more than a few hours old," she said. "Do you think I don't know? What I first saw in you I have watched grow ever since. I told you all I could; it was not for me to help you more. It was for you to help yourself—to develop from within. I think you were all ready for me, and I came at the psychological moment." She looked around the room from which the sunlight had now retreated, leaving it shadowy and dim. The hangings of black velvet were scattered about the floor, the little table and its two chairs were like a group of skeletons, empty, satiric, suggestive of past vanities. "'What is to come is real; it was a dream that passed,'" she quoted.
He found a new courage and a new hope. It shone in his eyes, it tingled in his body; something of his old audacity returned. He stood dark and strong before her.
"Oh, you have helped, indeed!" he said. "I think this would never have come alone, for I was sunk in an apathy—and yet, I'm not sure. The old life was no longer possible. I confess that I was in a trap, threatened with exposure—I feared your discovery of what I had been—I smarted under the shame of your disapproval—but it was not that that influenced me. It was like a chemical reaction, as all human intercourse is; you precipitated all this deceit and hypocrisy at one stroke and left my mind clear."