“Good-night,” said she, “Mr. Buckland, and—good-bye.”
He took her hand and held it in his own, which was trembling.
“Must it be good-bye, Rachel?” he said hoarsely.
“Surely,” said she, with a little forced, weary laugh, “you don’t want to remain a friend of an ex-detective!”
Gerard burst into a tirade of which the salient features were that he would have remained her friend if she had actually been one of the gang themselves, if she had been a card-sharper, if she had been a shop-lifter, if she had been a pickpocket. He loved her, and he knew that, whatever she might have done, she would never have been anything at heart but the noble and good woman whom he loved as he had always done.
He behaved indeed so irrationally, he expressed his love and devotion in so many impassioned and absurd speeches, he looked so earnest and he spoke so tenderly, that Miss Davison, if she could in any case have held out till morning, was softened, and gave way there and then. Gave way, that is to say, to the extent of telling him that he was an absurd boy, and that he might, if he liked, and if he had nothing better to do, take her to see Lady Jennings on the following day.
And, as there was no one in the street, she let him kiss her when he said good-night.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.