"I don't want to go so far as that," he muttered nervously. "Of course, she is a woman."
"And being so, is clever enough not to be caught. I daresay she will learn the secret of Mrs. Caldershaw, procure the fortune, and bolt to America." I moved towards the door, and Striver straightened himself to show me out. Then with an apparent afterthought I drew his attention to the smiling face of Miss Monk. "I admire that," said I, pointing.
The effect was somewhat unexpected. "Why?" he asked roughly, and flushed scarlet through his fair skin, looking more handsome than ever.
"Why?" I stared at him in surprise. "Why not? you should ask. It is a very lovely face, and I admire it as a work of art."
"Oh, as a work of art. That's all right," he retorted quickly, "but it happens to be the photograph of a real person."
"Miss Gertrude Monk."
"How do you know that?" demanded the young man, again flushing angrily.
"Miss Destiny told me that the photograph was one of her niece. I suppose, Mr. Striver, you would not mind my buying it."
"I'll see you hanged first," he retorted vehemently, and clenched his fists. "What is Miss Monk to you?"
"I have never met her, Mr. Striver, so calm yourself. But you display such heat at my apparently simple question, that I must ask, what is she to you?"