“She won’t take it though,” returned the woman. “Just seems to let herself go, not to mind a bit, especially these last weeks. I’m glad you came in; I’ve been hoping you would, sir.”
“I’m not any good though, she won’t listen to a word I say.”
It seemed to surprise the dressing woman.
“I’m sorry to hear it, sir; I thought she would. She talks about you often.”
He colored like a school-boy. “Gosh, it’s a shame to have her kill herself for nothing.” Reluctant to talk longer with Mrs. Higgins, he added in spite of himself: “She seems so lonely.”
“It’s two weeks now since that human devil went away,” Mrs. Higgins said unexpectedly, looking quietly into the blue eyes of the visitor.
“She hasn’t opened one of his letters or his telegrams. She has sold every pin and brooch he ever gave her, scattered the money far and wide. You saw how she went on with Cohen, and her pearls.”
Dan heard her as through a dream. Her words gave form and existence to a dreadful thing he had been trying to deny.
“Is she hard up now, Mrs. Higgins?” he asked softly. And glancing at him to see just how far she might go, the woman said:
“An actress who spends and lives as Miss Lane does is always hard up.”