“Your way is mine,” observed Jack Rily, coolly, as he compelled her to walk on. “But, by the bye, what were you doing in that bank at the door of which I met you?”
“I merely went in to see a clerk of my acquaintance,” replied the old woman, cursing in her heart the odious companion who thus pertinaciously attached himself to her.
“Come, that won’t do, old gal!” exclaimed Jack, as he paid the toll for them both at the gate of the bridge. “I am so well acquainted with all the rigs and moves of London life, as to be able to tell in a moment whether a person coming out of a bank has been to receive money, or not. If it’s a gentleman, he feels at his breeches-pocket to see that the cash is all safe—or he buttons his coat over his breast which proves that the notes are in his waistcoat. If it’s a woman, she gripes her reticule precious tight—or smoothes down her dress just over where her pocket is—or else settles her shawl over her bosom, when the notes are there. This last was precisely what you did; and therefore, my old tiger-cat, I know that you’ve got money in the bosom of your dress as well as if I saw you put it there.”
“You’re quite wrong for once in your life, Mr. Rily,” said Mrs. Mortimer, trembling at the remarks which had just fallen upon her ears.
“Then why does your arm shake so as it hangs in mine?” demanded the Doctor, with an imperturbability which frightened the old woman more than if he had actually used threats: for, little as she had seen of him, she was well enough acquainted with his character to perceive that he was meditating mischief.
“My arm did not shake,” cried Mrs. Mortimer, mastering up all her courage and presence of mind, “But here we are at the end of the bridge, and I must bid you good-bye. When shall we meet again?”
“We are not going to separate in a hurry, I can tell you,” said the Doctor: “so don’t think it. You know I love you,” he added with a horrible grin, which opened his harelip so wide that he seemed to be an ogre about to devour her; “and I love much more still the bank-notes that you have got in your bosom. Besides, it is my duty to protect you from Vitriol Bob; and, in addition to all this, I think we shall be able to knock up a very cozie partnership together.”
“And suppose that I decline the honour you intend me?” asked the old woman, assuming a tone of bitter sarcasm in order to induce Rily to believe that she was not afraid—though, in reality, her heart was sinking within her.
“In the case which you have suggested, I shall force you to do as I choose and act as I desire,” coolly responded the Doctor.
“Force me, indeed!” repeated the old woman, withdrawing her arm, and stopping short in the Waterloo Road.