"You are a hard one, Mrs. Randall."
"I'm a hard-up one, Mr. Faunce. There's no use denying it when you see me in such a beggarly hole as this. I ain't used to it. I've lived like a lady ever since I was eighteen years old, and this beastly lodging-house gets upon my nerves. That's why I was so nasty with you when you came in," she concluded, with a little laugh that didn't sound quite genuine.
"Well, Mrs. Randall, if you oblige my client I know she will deal generously with you."
"Two hundred quid paid down before I go into the box; not a penny less."
"We'll see about it. In the mean time, to show good faith, there's a trifle on account," said Faunce, handing her a ten-pound note.
He would have offered her more had he found her in better surroundings, but he reckoned the rooms she was in at ten shillings a week, and he thought she had come to her lowest stage.
"Thanks," she said, putting the note in a shabby porte-monnaie, whose contents Faunce's eye discovered in the instant of its opening—sixpence and a few coppers.
The door opened suddenly at this moment, and Faunce, who sat opposite, caught one brief glimpse of the man who opened it, and who, on seeing him, stepped back, shut it quickly, and ran downstairs. Faunce started up, and was at the window in time to see the visitor leave the house, and walk down the street. He was a big man, with broad shoulders and a bull neck, flashily dressed, and with a fox-terrier at his heels.
"I'm sorry I frightened your friend away," said Faunce.
"Oh, it don't matter. He can come another time if he wants to see me," Mrs. Randall answered carelessly.