“Only costs a dollar! as if dollars were made to fling into Potter’s Field. Why, woman, do you know how much a dollar is worth? How much interest it will bring, how many years it will take a dollar to double? A dollar for a dead baby! If I’d spent dollars so extravagantly, do you think I should ‘a’ been rolling in gold now, rolling, rolling in it—do you hear?”
Jane Kelly cast a rather scornful glance around the miserable chamber, with its naked floor, single bed, and coarse wooden chairs. This did not look much like rolling in gold.
“You don’t believe me? you think I lie. Very well, very well. You fear that I cannot pay up; very well again; we shall see to that!”
“It’s no joke,” said Jane Kelly, who really did begin to fear for the safety of her bribe, after discovering the nakedness of the land. “It’s no joke to do what I’ve done; and a poor body like me might be a trifle anxious about the pay, without blame, let me tell you, ma’am.”
“Did you kill the baby?” inquired Madame De Marke, in a low, cunning whisper. “Because if you did, of course that makes a difference. Did you kill it?”
Jane sat silent, tempted to assent; for the woman’s words seemed to promise a heavier reward, if crime had really been committed; and her rapacity overcame her prudence.
“Did you kill it?” eagerly repeated the woman.
“Don’t ask me!” answered the nurse, drawing down her veil as with a spasm of remorse, “I don’t want to think about it.”
“Then you did kill it!” cried the woman, and her little, black eyes twinkled with mingled cupidity and malice.
“The price ought to be doubled, ma’am. One’s conscience is worth something.”