"That's just what I ain't going to be. Well, you're a nice one, you are! Not even a thankee for standing by you as I did."
"You will not be content with thanks," he said, gloomily.
"Not likely. Want something more solid. Now, didn't I stand by you like a brick? Just one word from Blooming Bess, and your whole box of tricks would have been upset. But I didn't let on, by so much as a wink. We took 'em in nicely between us, didn't we? 'You're the sort of gentleman,' says I, 'that would pay well for anything that was done for him.' 'I am,' says you. I say, if they'd guessed the game we were playing there'd have been a rumpus. I want to know your name, and where you live."
"You don't," he retorted. "You want money."
"I want that, too; but I want your name and address, and I mean to have it. I won't use it against you so long as you square me."
She spoke with so much determination that he gave her what she demanded.
"Mr. Parkinson knows the other one," she said; "and if I don't find you at home when I want, I'll find him. Have you got a sovereign about you?"
Surprised at the moderateness of the request, he gave her a sovereign.
"How's Mary?" she asked.
The question suggested to him a plan which offered greater safety than allowing her to go away with money, and perhaps drinking herself into dangerous loquacity.