“I understand. Poor devils!” cried Laura, with another laugh, which was so loud and discordant that it jarred upon the ears of her companions.
“You make merry over the misfortunes of your friends,” he observed, deprecatingly.
“Friends!” she exclaimed, in a sneering tone. “How many have I in this world, I should like to know? Friends, indeed! where can you find them? There are many who may call themselves your friends, but who would nevertheless sell you without pity or remorse if they could profit by the bargain.”
“You speak with bitterness, my lady. I have never sold or betrayed you.”
“Pardon me, Charlie, I was not alluding to you. Dismiss any such idea from your mind. We were always pals—let us continue to be so.”
She drew her chair close to his, and took one of his hands within her own. She had the cunning of the serpent, for in some respects she had much of the fascinating powers which that reptile is supposed to possess; but Peace was not likely to be made a dupe of, as he knew pretty well the character of the woman who was so demonstrative.
“You don’t forget your old companion. You don’t forget the time when we were boy and girl together?”
“No, I don’t forget, Laura.”
“Then why this coldness?” she remarked, looking into his face with her soft seductive eyes.
“Look here, old girl, I hope you have not brought me into this crib to make love to me. If you have, it’s a bit of a sell, that’s all I have to say. We know one another pretty well. We ought to do so by this time. I wish you well, and am glad to find that you are in so comfortable a position. I shan’t lose sight of you—shall drop in occasionally to see how you are getting along, for, as I said before, I wish you well.”