“Yes, I do, my lad,” returned Miss Stanbridge.
“You’ll make something of that boy before you’ve done with him,” whispered Peace. “I dare say you find him an apt pupil.”
“And what if I do, Charlie?” said the woman, in an offended tone. “It doesn’t matter to you, I suppose.”
Peace shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply.
A cab was hailed, and the three playgoers were conveyed to their destination. Peace parted with Miss Stanbridge at the door of her house, and returned home on foot to his rooms in Leather-lane.
Miss Stanbridge poured evil words into the ear of the boy, who listened to them greedily. He was ambitious in mind—he was dishonest in heart. He longed to be one who was known and feared while he was alive, and who should be spoken of and written of after he was dead.
Upon his return home, Alf Purvis missed Mrs. Grover.
He asked his mistress what had become of her.
“She has gone away,” said Miss Stanbridge. “I had set my mind on something, and she was foolish enough to oppose me.”
“Oh,” murmured Alf, “I’m sorry for that.”