betray you. She stuck by you to the very end. She protected you a
great deal better than you protected her."

"See here, Bingle, I don't like your tone. It sounds preachy. You
don't know anything about life, so you can't understand. That sort of
thing is--well, it happens to a good many men and no one thinks much
about it. I daresay that half the men you know have had just such an
experience. It's part of the game here in New York. The girls
understand it. They have no illusions. They know that these men
cannot--or will not marry them. So, as you don't know anything about
life as it's practised now-a-days, I'd advise you to go slow with your
platitudes."

"All right, Force," said Mr. Bingle quietly. "If that's the way you
feel about it, there's no use wasting time over nothing. I can't
resist saying, however, that I didn't think it was in you to be so
damned cold-blooded."

"Cold-blooded over what? The Glenn girl? Why, my dear man, that was
nearly thirteen years ago. I am sorry that she had to go the way she
did, but, good Lord, I can't go through life in sackcloth and ashes
because she died--as a lot of people do, every year, you know. Hers
was not an uncommon case. There are thousands just like it happening
every year. It's the price we all pay, men and women. There's no use
being sentimental about a perfectly commonplace--I might even say
legitimate--transaction. Agnes Glenn was like the rest of her kind:
she had a very sharp pair of eyes open all of the time, you may be
quite sure of that. I will say this for her, poor little devil: she
was no blackmailer. She got down and out when the time came and she
never squealed. That's more than most of 'em do, Bingle. 'Pon my soul,