Maudie rose to go away.
“You’re not angry with me, Jim?” she asked, pleadingly.
“Oh, get out!” he snapped.
Maudie turned pale and rushed from the room.
“Silly b——h,” Monkley said. “Well, it’s been a very instructive morning,” he added, fixing Sylvia with his green eyes and making her feel uncomfortable.
“Some people make a fuss about the least little thing,” Henry said. “There was just the same trouble when I pawned my wife’s jewelry. Coming round the corner to have one?” he inquired, looking at Monkley, who said he would join him presently and followed him out of the room.
When she was alone, Sylvia tried to put her emotions in order, without success. She had wished for excitement, but, now that it had arrived, she wished it had kept away from her. She was not so much shocked by the revelation of what her father and Monkley had done (though she resented their cowardly treatment of Maudie), as frightened by what might ultimately happen to her in their company. They might at any moment find themselves in prison, and if she were to be let out before the others, what would she do? She would be utterly alone and would starve; or, what seemed more likely, they would be arrested and she would remain in Lillie Road, waiting for news and perhaps compelled to earn her living by working for Mrs. Meares. At all costs she must be kept informed of what was going on. If her father tried to shut her out of his confidence, she would appeal to Monkley. Her meditation was interrupted by Monkley himself.
“So you’re a little girl,” he said, suddenly. “Fancy that.”
“What if I am?” challenged Sylvia, who saw no hope of successfully denying the accusation.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Monkley murmured. “It’s more fun, that’s all. But, look here, girl or boy, don’t let me ever have any more heroics from you. D’ye hear? Or, by God! I’ll—”