“Would it make any difference to you if I had broken out of prison?”
“No, it wouldn’t make any difference to me—but I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean I want you to go away with me. I want to get you out of this den of petty-larceny addicts and low-brows. That’s what your father wanted, Emily.”
“But I don’t even know your name. Why should I run away with you?”
“Because the Dropper is a brute. Because he will beat you—if he hasn’t already. Because the life here leads to the gutter—and mighty fast you’ll drift down to it, little Emily.”
The girl arranged a black velvet bandeau on her hair. Fay noticed that the rings on her fingers were brassy and childish. They grated on a man who had never handled any but first-water jewels.
He leaned forward and suggested:
“Come with me—say, to-morrow night. We’ll go East together. I know a motherly woman who has an old mansion on the Hudson.”
Little Emily fluttered her lashes in an anxious glance at the open door, beyond which was the sound of dreamy voices.