“Faith,” says the gentleman coolly, “if you save it at the expense of another’s.”
She drew back a little.
“Not a woman’s?”
“Never fear, Mrs. Moll. ’Tis your pretty rogue’s face and your ready impudence I wish for a bait, and they’d catch no woman, believe me. Come, are you prepared to engage them in my service?”
She primmed her lips, holding up a finger.
“Discretion,” she said. “I’ll answer when I’m told.”
He nodded, and, leading her apart from betraying keyholes, seated himself and pulled her to a chair beside him.
“Now,” said he, “give me your little lovely ear, while I whisper in it.”
She sat at attention like a mouse, while he spoke his low-voiced scheme to her. Mischief, intelligence, secret laughter waited on her lips and eyes as she leaned to listen, sometimes shaking her curls, sometimes whispering the softest little “yes” or “no.” And when at last it was all said, she jumped to her feet with a laugh that was like glass bells, and clapped her hands merrily, while her companion sat, one arm akimbo, regarding her with a pleasant waiting expression.
“Well,” he said; “you’ll do it?”