"I'll try," was the eager reply,—"that is, if Mr. Waddington's agreeable."
Maud came back to her place by the piano. She was a plump young lady with a pink and white complexion, which suffered slightly from lack of exercise and fresh air and over-use of powder. Her hair was yellower than her friend's, but it also owed some part of its beauty to artificial means. In business hours she was attired in an exceedingly tight-fitting black dress, disfigured in many places by the accidents of her profession.
"You are a dear, Mr. Burton," she declared. "I wonder what your wife would say, though?" she added, a little coyly.
"Not seeing much of Ellen just lately," Burton replied. "I'm living up in town alone."
"Oh!" she remarked. "Mr. Burton, I'm ashamed of you! What does that mean, I wonder? You men!" she went on, with a sigh. "One has to be so careful. You are such deceivers, you know! What's the attraction?"
"You!" he whispered.
"What a caution you are!" she exclaimed. "I like that, too, after not coming near me for months! What are you looking so scared about, all of a sudden?"
Burton was looking through the garishly papered walls of the public-house sitting-room, out into the world. He was certainly a little paler.
"Haven't I been in for months?" he asked softly.
She stared at him.