"No, you could hardly supply my place," said Caprice, with a sneer. "Don't you bother yourself, Mortimer, I'm not going to die yet. When I do I sha'n't be sorry; life hasn't been so pleasant to me that I should wish to live."
"I don't know what you want," grumbled the manager; "you've got all Melbourne at your feet."
"I can't say much for Melbourne's morality, then," retorted Caprice bitterly; "circumstances have made me what I am, but I'm getting tired of the cakes and ale business. If I could only secure the future of my child, I'd turn religious."
"Mary Magdalen!"
"Yes, a case of history repeating itself, isn't it?" she replied, with a harsh laugh.
"Strange!" said Mortimer, scrutinising her narrowly; "the worse a woman is in her youth, the more devout she becomes in her old age."
"On the authority of M. de la Rochefoucauld, I suppose," answered Caprice; "old age gives good advice when it no longer can give bad example."
"Who told you that?"
"A man you never knew--Vandeloup."
"I don't know that my not being acquainted with him was much to be regretted."