"Sometimes I think that all the time we live two lives,--the life of which the world sees the outside, and the life inside of which no one save ourselves knows anything at all.

Look, for instance, at all these people--these chorus girls and young men about town--the older ones, too--all hungry for pleasure, all drinking at the cup of life as though they had indeed but to-day and to-morrow in which to live and enjoy.
Have they no shadows, too, no secrets?
They seem so harmless, yet if the great white truth shone down, might one not find a murderer there, a dying man who knew his terrible secret, yonder a Croesus on the verge of bankruptcy, a strong man playing with dishonor?
But those are the things of the other world which we do not see.

The men look at us to-night and they envy you because you are with me.
The women envy me more because I have emeralds upon my neck and shoulders for which they would give their souls, and a fame throughout Europe which would turn their foolish heads in a very few minutes.

But they do not know.

There are the shadows across my path, and I think that there are the shadows across yours.