"No, that I don't," answered Louisa. "I never set eyes on him before. I thought he was just a friend of Jim Hardy's. I thought it was Jim you spoke of, mother, when you mentioned a likely young man."
"Oh, Jim! he's well enough," said Mrs. Clay. "I don't go for to deny that 'e's handsome to look at, but my thought is this, 'andsome is as 'andsome does. Now, that young man Sampson, as you call him, will make his fortin' some fine day. He's in the private detective line, and your father says there aint a sharper man in the trade. A sharp detective makes his fortin' in these days, no doubt on that p'int."
Louisa's face slightly lost its color; a puzzled expression, an almost frightened look, crept into her eyes.
"So George Sampson is a detective," she said slowly; "a detective, and he is a friend of Jim's. I wonder why he came here?"
"Why he come 'ere!" said the old woman. "Why do any young men come 'ere? Oh, we needn't say why; but we know. Good-night, child, good-night."
"Good-night, mother," said the daughter.
She went upstairs to her own good-sized bedroom, just over the pawnshop. She occupied the best bedroom in the house. She set her candle on her chest of drawers now, and sat down where she could see her handsome, striking-looking figure in the looking-glass. There was a long glass in the door of her wardrobe, and there she could see her reflection from head to foot. The red dress suited her well; it accentuated the carmine in her cheeks, and brought out the brilliancy of her eyes. She pushed back her mass of black hair from her low brow, and gazed hard at her own image.
"Yes," she said to herself, "I am handsome. Ef I were a lady I'd be a queen. I'm handsome enough for anythink. But what do it matter! Good Lor', what do anythink matter when you can't get what you are breaking your heart for! I'd give all the world for Jim, and Jim don't care nothink for me."
She sighed heavily. Presently she drew herself upright, pushed her chair back so that she could no longer see her image in the glass, placed her two elbows on the table, pressed her cheeks down on her open palms, and thought hard.
"Why did that man, George Sampson, come here to-night?" she said to herself. "Did Jim bring him knowing that he is a detective; did he bring him because he suspects me? Oh, he couldn't suspect me; Jim aint that mean sort. Still, I don't like Sampson; I don't like his coming 'ere; I don't like the way he fixes me with his ferret eyes. Jim is mad about Alison. He can't suspect me, of course; but he is mad about it all. He is half broken-hearted, and he thinks less of me than ever. Oh, Jim, Jim! and I do love you so terrible bad. Why don't you love me even a little bit back again? I'd be good ef you loved me; I know I'd be good. What is there in Alison Reed for you nearly to die for her? She aint got my looks, she aint got my eyes, she aint got my bit of money. I'm handsome, and I know it, and I'll have a tidy lot of money when I'm married, for father tells me so. What is Alison compared to me? Oh, nothing, nothing at all! just a mealy-faced, white-cheeked slip of a girl. But somehow or other he loves her, and he don't love me a bit; I'd do anything under the sun to win him. Why to-day, to-day I did a crime, and 'twas for him, 'twas to win him; and, after all, I failed. Oh, yes, I saw it to-night, I failed horribly."