“No,” she replied, coolly. “You took care only to pay me up to this morning, so it’s your affair now, Mr Herrisey.”
The last word was said with a meaning emphasis, which made Richard wince.
“How did you know I was staying here?” he said, more quietly.
“How did I know that you lived here!” laughed the woman; “you told me—at least, you took care to drop one of your cards one day, and to sign the cheque one day as Richard Pellet. Of course, when it was money, I wanted to know which was right—Herrisey or Pellet. It didn’t much matter to me, but I thought I’d know while I was about it. You may call yourself Smith if you like.”
Richard Pellet glared at the woman, as he thought of the trouble he had been at to keep a little separate banking account solely for this purpose, and then, unknown to himself, force of habit had made him make one payment according to custom. He was at the woman’s mercy, in spite of the precautions he thought he had taken, and no doubt she knew the whole of his affairs. Well, money would buy her, he thought; and then he was brought back from his short musing by the woman’s hard voice.
“If you choose to be mean, you must put up with the consequences; and what’s more, you ought to thank and pay me for coming to put you on your guard.”
“Do you think she—she knows that I live here?” said Richard, in a hoarse whisper.
The woman smiled contemptuously, as she replied—
“No, she don’t know it, poor mad thing! at least, I don’t think so. She kept to the name, too, right enough, and wouldn’t answer to the name of Pellet.”
“Of course not,” exclaimed Richard, fiercely; and then the two stood gazing in each other’s eyes for a minute before the woman spoke, saying, maliciously—