“Good night, or rather good morning. It’s been an all-night affair,” said the voice inside.
“Good day,” said the other, and whistling softly, his hands thrust into his pockets, he strolled down the steps of the lodging house without noticing two dark figures pressed against the wall in the shadow of the landing. They waited until they heard the door slam, and then started once more on their journey downstairs. The conversation they had overheard was hardly intelligible to them, except for the name O’Connor. But of course there were thousands of O’Connors in the world. Nevertheless Billie stored that interview away in her mind. For some reason she could not forget it, and the words began, subconsciously, to take a meaning deeper than she knew. To Nancy they meant nothing at all, and she forgot them in the advent of more important matters.
One more flight of steps and they stood on the second floor. As they reached the landing, a bell in a neighboring tower clanged out the hour. It was five o’clock. They must lose no time. The occupants of a poor lodging house might be stirring in another half hour if not sooner.
In the room by which the two girls were passing at that moment, there was a sound of hurried footsteps. The door opened slightly and a querulous voice called:
“Do hurry. You are always slower when you know I’m suffering. I don’t know what I ever did to have such a plain, ungrateful child!”
Involuntarily, the girls paused and listened. Only a few days ago, had they not heard that same querulous voice?
“Oh, yes,” they could remember its saying, “I always stay at the very best places and go with the very best people. Dear Marie-Jeanne is like her mother. She only cares for aristocratic society.”
But was it possible, in this den of thieves? The door opened wider. Some one in a long cape appeared and a girl’s voice said:
“Do be quiet, mother, I’m going as fast as I can.”
Closing the door with an impatient bang, Marie-Jeanne stepped into view. She was about to pass by the two beggar girls who faced her in the half-darkness. There were many strange people in this house. She never inquired into their business and they never inquired into hers. It was the etiquette of the place. Poor Marie-Jeanne had no curiosity about the other lodgers. She was only thankful that the house was quiet, for whatever schemes were hatched or secrets hidden in Miss Felicia Rivers’ abode, it was done without noise. Marie-Jeanne, therefore, without turning one curious glance at the poor beggar maids, was hurrying past when Billie seized her arm.