“And I’ve never forgotten you,” she said, her voice eager and trembling, “and what you did for me. And I’ve watched you come to this city, and fight it, and fight it, until you made them put you where you are.” She stopped to control her voice, and smiled at him. “And that’s why I knew you were District Attorney,” she said; “and please—” she fumbled in the mesh purse at her waist and taking a bill from it, threw it upon the table. “And please, there’s the money I owe you, and—and—I thank you—and goodbye.” She turned and almost ran from him toward the door to the hall.
“Stop!” cried Winthrop.
Poised for flight, the girl halted, and looked back.
“When can I see you again?” said the man. The tone made it less a question than a command.
In a manner as determined as his own, the girl shook her head.
“No!” she said.
“I must!” returned the man.
Again the girl shook her head, definitely, finally.
“It won’t help you in your work,” she pleaded, “to come to see me.”
“I must!” repeated Winthrop simply.