Fascinated, his glance dwelt upon her; nothing of her fresh beauty was lost on him; the smooth curve of her soft white throat, the alluring charm of her warm sensuous lips, the tiny dimple that came and went when she smiled, the graceful pliant lines of her figure, the rare poise of her small head--his glance observed all.

For better or for worse he loved her with whatever of the man there was in him; he might hate her in some sudden burst of fierce anger because of her shallowness, her greed, her utter selfishness; but he loved her always, he could never be wholly free from the spell her beauty had cast over him.
[Illustration: Why, what's the matter, Marsh ?] "Look here, Evelyn," he said at last.

"What's the use of going on in this way, why can't we get back to some decent understanding ?" He was hungry for tenderness from her; acute physical fear was holding him in its grip.

He leaned back in his chair and found support for his head.
"You're right," he went on, "I can't stand this racket much longer--this work and worry; we are living beyond our means; we'll have to slow up, get down to a more sane basis." The words came from his blue lips in jerky disjointed sentences.

"What's the use, it's too much of a struggle! I do a thousand things I don't want to do, shady things in my practice, things no reputable lawyer should stoop to, and all to make a few dollars to throw away.