Monkley seemed to pay no more attention to the slip, but went over to Maudie and began to coax her.
“Come on, Maudie, don’t turn away from a good pal. What if we did take a few things? They shouldn’t have left them behind. People deserve to lose things if they’re so careless.”
“That’s quite true,” Henry agreed, virtuously. “It’ll be a lesson to them.”
“Go back and pack up your things, my dear, and get out of the house. I’ll see you through. You shall take another name and go on the stage right away. What’s the good of crying over a few rings and bangles?”
But Maudie refused to be comforted. “Give them back to me. Give them back to me,” she moaned.
“Oh, all right,” Monkley said, suddenly. “But you’re no sport, Maudie. You’ve got the chance of your life and you’re turning it down. Well, don’t blame me if you find yourself still a slavey five years hence.”
Monkley went down-stairs and came back again in a minute or two with a parcel wrapped up in tissue-paper.
“You haven’t kept anything back?” Maudie asked, anxiously.
“My dear girl, you ought to know how many there were. Count them.”
“Would you like me to give you back the hair-wash?” Henry asked, indignantly.