What’s your name?” He asked in return. ‘There is Bernadette, Marie-Thérèse, Marie-Joséphine, Marie-Claire, Henriette—’ Exasperated, Gerald seized her by the shoulders. Can’t face a scandal. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue. Love is one thing and friendship quite another. Why can’t you let it be?’ Gerald grinned at him. Sorry to be so nosy. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling.
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