“A lot you care! As it happens, I have been enjoying myself. I’ve made a hit, and I’m one of the great London favorites, Bartley. What do you think of that, eh? Did you ever hear of Bella-Bella?”
He shook his head.
“Not you! You’ve been away from England so long, don’t you know!” and she laughed sarcastically. “Well, I’m Bella-Bella, the Flying Swallow. There isn’t one to touch me on the trapeze, they say; and I believe they’re right. I’m making quite a pile, I am; but I’ll take my allowance all the same, thank you, Mr. Bradstone! Lord, how frightened you look still!” and she stared and laughed at him. “I dare say you wish I was dead.”
He started, and glanced at her under his brows.
“I’m sure I’ve wished the same many and many a time. But I’m alive still, you see, and kicking,” and she folded her legs and stuck out her ankles. “Very much alive. I fancy I shall outlive you, my dear, though I do risk my neck every night. Drop in at the Palace of Amusement when you’re in London next, and have a look at me.”
“I—I will,” he said.
“And so you’re staying in this dead-and-alive hole, are you?” she said, eying him curiously. “I wonder what you’re up to; some sly game or other, I’ll be bound. You always were up to a lay of some kind, weren’t you? What is it now, eh?”
“I don’t understand you,” he said, with affected carelessness. “I’m just staying on here——”
“Do you know many of the people of the place?” she asked, interrupting him contemptuously.
“A few, yes,” he replied.