I am not going to be a chorus girl, or even a super. She spoke slowly. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. “I expected to stay with a relation, but I found that their arrangements did not allow of it. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. In Singapore that had been her only dissipation: a dozen pairs of silk stockings. She was not very clear about the position and duties of a chorus-girl, but it certainly had the air of being a last desperate resort.
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