You do not need my compliments. She raised this with the air of a conspirator unmasking, and displayed a tear-flushed face. The risk I run is nothing to yours. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere.
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