Constance was nineteen and had every charm given to youth. She was a dancer, with those legs, had been in the chorus of a couple of musicals. She wanted to be a dramatic actress and was working as an usher at the Belasco, to watch our performances. Years later, when it was over between us, she became a film actress, rather a favorite in Europe, sort of a star.

There was a devil’s battle going on in me. The moral code by which I’d been brought up made me feel guilty. But I found that what had been happening was thrilling, adventurous, and—the only word for it—educational. I’d never before yielded myself so entirely to my emotions. My life was no longer under control.