Am I so innocent that Jack Hanover, and Charlie Rodgers, and Black Whitman, and as many more of their kind, can make love to you under my very nose without my knowing it?
You take damned good care--posing as a prude with your fad about immodest dress--that the world sees nothing; but you have never troubled to hide it from me." Deliberately, she arose and stood before him.

"And why should I trouble to hide anything from you ?" she demanded.

"Look at me"-- she posed as if to exhibit for his critical inspection the charm of her physical beauty--"Look at me; am I to waste all _this_ upon you?
You tell me that you have had your money's worth--surely, the purchase price is mine to spend as I will.

Even suppose that I were as evil as your foul mind sees me, what right have you to object?
Are you so chaste that you dare cast a stone at me?
Am I to have no pleasure in this hell you have made for me but the horrible pleasure of watching you in the hell you have made for yourself?
Be satisfied that the world does not see your shame--though it's from no consideration of you, but wholly for myself, that I am careful.

As for my modesty--you know it is not a fad but a necessity." "That is just it"-- he retorted--"it is the way you make a fad of a necessity! Forced to hide your shoulders, you make a virtue of concealment.