376           THE  TRAIL OF  '98
fought for me. She drove off all the other girls. We talked together, we drank together, we " played the tables " together, but nothing more. She would coax me with the prettiest gestures, and cajole me with the sweetest endearments; then, when I steadfastly resisted her, she would fly into a fury and flout me with the foulness of the stews. She was beautiful, but born to be bad. No power on heaven or earth could have saved her. Yet in her badness she was frank, natural and untroubled as a child.
It was in one of the corridors of the dance-hall in the early hours of the morning. The place was deserted, strewed with debris of the night's debauch. The air was fetid, and from the gambling-hall down below arose the shouts of the players. We were up there, Blossom and I. I was in a strange state of mind, a state bordering on frenzy. Not much longer, I felt, could I keep up this pace. Something had to happen, and that soon.
She put her arms around me. I could feel her cheek pressed to mine. I could see her bosom rise and fall.
" Come," she said.
She led me towards her room* No longer was I able to resist. My foot was on the threshold and I was almost over when------
" Telegram, sir."
It was a messenger. Confusedly I took the flimsy envelope and tore it open. Blankly I stared at the line of type. I stared like a man in a dream. I was sober enough now.