“A secret—and a proposal, old mother,” he said. “How much, or, rather, how little will you take for helping me to keep it?”
“Do you want me to commit murder? I’m an honest woman.”
“I know; that’s why I can depend on you.”
She fawned with her hands.
“Tell me what it all means, lovey dear.”
“I’m going to. Shut that door first.”
She did as she was told. The listening spirits of the fog were baffled. When the door opened again, Mark was standing in the entry, the burden still in his arms, while Mother Carey pleaded urgently behind him.
“A lump sum, deary. Come!”
“No,” he said; “a pension. A quarterly gag on your tongue, or nothing. You can take or leave.”
“I take!” she whispered shrilly—“I take! Be careful of that step, deary.”