Mary Turner spent less than an hour in that mysteriously important engagement with Dick Gilder, of which she had spoken to Aggie.After separating from the young man, she went alone down Broadway, walking the few blocks of distance to Sigismund Harris's office.On a corner, her attention was caught by the forlorn face of a girl crossing into the side street.A closer glance showed that the privation of the gaunt features was emphasized by the scant garments, almost in tatters.Instantly, Mary's quick sympathies were aroused, the more particularly since the wretched child seemed of about the age she herself had been when her great suffering had befallen.So, turning aside, she soon caught up with the girl and spoke an inquiry.
It was the familiar story, a father out of work, a sick mother, a brood of hungry children.Some confused words of distress revealed the fact that the wobegone girl was even then fighting the final battle of purity against starvation.That she still fought on in such case proved enough as to her decency of nature, wholesome despite squalid surroundings.Mary's heart was deeply moved, and her words of comfort came with a simple sincerity that was like new life to the sorely beset waif.She promised to interest herself in securing employment for the father, such care as the mother and children might need, along with a proper situation for the girl herself.In evidence of her purpose, she took her engagement-book from her bag, and set down the street and number of the East Side tenement where the family possessed the one room that mocked the word home, and she gave a banknote to the girl to serve the immediate needs.
When she went back to resume her progress down Broadway, Mary felt herself vastly cheered by the warm glow within, which is the reward of a kindly act, gratefully received.And, on this particular morning, she craved such assuagement of her spirit, for the conscience that, in spite of all her misdeeds, still lived was struggling within her.In her revolt against a world that had wantonly inflicted on her the worst torments, Mary Turner had thought that she might safely disregard those principles in which she had been so carefully reared.She had believed that by the deliberate adoption of a life of guile within limits allowed by the law, she would find solace for her wants, while feeling that thus she avenged herself in some slight measure for the indignities she had undergone unjustly.Yet, as the days passed, days of success as far as her scheming was concerned, this brilliant woman, who had tried to deem herself unscrupulous, found that lawlessness within the law failed to satisfy something deep within her soul.The righteousness that was her instinct was offended by the triumphs achieved through so devious devices, though she resolutely set her will to suppress any spiritual rebellion.
There was, as well, another grievance of her nature, yet more subtle, infinitely more painful.This lay in her craving for tenderness.She was wholly woman, notwithstanding the virility of her intelligence, its audacity, its aggressiveness.She had a heart yearning for the multitudinous affections that are the prerogative of the feminine; she had a heart longing for love, to receive and to give in full measure....And her life was barren.
Since the death of her father, there had been none on whom she could lavish the great gifts of her tenderness.Through the days of her working in the store, circumstances had shut her out from all association with others congenial.No need to rehearse the impossibilities of companionship in the prison life.Since then, the situation had not vitally improved, in spite of her better worldly condition.For Garson, who had saved her from death, she felt a strong and lasting gratitude--nothing that relieved the longing for nobler affections.There was none other with whom she had any intimacy except that, of a sort, with Aggie Lynch, and by no possibility could the adventuress serve as an object of deep regard.The girl was amusing enough, and, indeed, a most likable person at her best.But she was, after all, a shallow-pated individual, without a shred of principle of any sort whatsoever, save the single merit of unswerving loyalty to her "pals." Mary cherished a certain warm kindliness for the first woman who had befriended her in any way, but beyond this there was no finer feeling.
