"No, sir; she says as how she'll see you to-morrow."
"That won't do. I must have the information she has promised, otherwise the detectives will do the work for me at once," he said sternly.
"Detectives! oh!" she cries, quickly, in changed tones, leaving the room; when there is more parleying on the part of the woman. She now returns, saying:
"Please, step this way, sir."
Going into the girl's room, who is evidently a vest-maker, by the pile of said articles on a table, another on the sewing-machine. She gives a sulky nod, pointing him to a chair. She has a seedy gown on, untidy hair, and no collar, looking as if she cared for naught. There is an attempt at decoration on the flowered wall-paper, in shape of business cards pinned thereon, with the inevitable bow of ribbon; three cane chairs, a trunk, a bright rag carpet, two tables, and a small lounge, furnish the room. Conspicuous among the photos lying on a table, and the only one enthroned in a scarlet plush frame, is a smiling photograph of Mr. Cobbe.
Determined on showing nothing like feeling, in her half hysterical state, he says, briefly:
"Well, what have you to tell me, as you failed in keeping your appointment? I have come to hear."
"And suppose I go back on my word, and don't tell you?" she said, doggedly.
"Then you shall be made to speak," he says, with a brave front; though his heart is heavy at her words.
"Oh, I know what fine gentlemen's boasts add up to," she says, crossly and defiantly, dashing away her tears; "to just nothing."