“Are you quite sure she’s the right one for you?” the girl asked, looking at him curiously. “She doesn’t sound your type at all.”
“She isn’t really,” George admitted, “but sometimes one can’t help that. A girl like that gets in one’s blood and there’s not much one can do about it. I can’t, anyway.”
The girl thought about this for a moment, then she nodded. “Yes, I can understand that,” she said; “but you ought to be careful. A girl like that could get you into a lot of trouble.”
Trouble? George thought bitterly. She had done that all right, if you could use such a word for murder.
“Well, I can’t help it,” he returned tonelessly. “I can’t do without her.”
The girl stood up. “All right,” she said. “I’ll help you. Take me home and I’ll give you an outfit. I’d like to surprise your girlfriend. I only wish I could be there to see her face when you give it to her.”
George stared at her, scarcely believing his ears.
“You’ll give me an outfit?” he repeated stupidly.
“Yes. I’d much sooner give you one than have to go home without a stitch.” She suddenly laughed. “I have to think of Daddy. It would give the poor darling a stroke; and think what the servants would say!”
Was this a trap? George wondered, suddenly suspicious. Was she going to get him to the house and then send for the police? Why should she give him the clothes? She had never seen him before. What was behind this?