"Certainly I care. I'd like to be one of them, not a—a specimen.
Wouldn't you?"
"Um-m, perhaps. I dare say I could be one of them if it weren't for
Courteau. People forget things quickly in a new country."
"Why did you take him back? I'm sure you don't care for him."
"Not in the least. He's the sort of man you can't love or hate; he's a nine-spot. Just the same, he protects me and—I can't help being sorry for him."
Rouletta smiled. "Fancy you needing protection and him giving—"
"You don't understand. He protects me from myself. I mean it. I'm as unruly as the average woman and I make a fool of myself on the slightest provocation. Henri is a loafer, a good-for-nothing, to be sure, but, nevertheless, I have resumed his support. It was easier than refusing it. I help broken miners. I feed hungry dogs. Why shouldn't I clothe and feed a helpless husband? It's a perfectly feminine, illogical thing to do."
"Other people don't share your opinion of him. He can be very agreeable, very charming, when he tries."
"Of course. That's his stock in trade; that's his excuse for being. Women are crazy about him, as you probably know, but—give me a man the men like." There was a pause. "So you don't enjoy the thing you're doing?"
"I hate it! I hate the whole atmosphere—the whole underworld.
It's-unhealthy, stifling."
"What has happened?"