Taking her hand from the door she was about opening, Mrs. Dinneford came back into the room, and stood close to Mrs. Bray:
“Shall I send you the money?”
“You can do as you please,” was replied, with chilling indifference.
“Are you implacable?”
“I am not used to suspicion, much less denunciation and assault. A vampire! Do you know what that means?”
“It meant, as used by me, only madness. I did not know what I was saying. It was a cry of pain—nothing more. Consider how I stand, how much I have at stake, in what a wretched affair I have become involved. It is all new to me, and I am bewildered and at fault. Do not desert me in this crisis. I must have some one to stand between me and this woman; and if you step aside, to whom can I go?”
Mrs. Bray relented just a little. Mrs. Dinneford pleaded and humiliated herself, and drifted farther into the toils of her confederate.
“You are not rich, Mrs. Bray,” she said, at parting, “independent in spirit as you are. I shall add a hundred dollars for your own use; and if ever you stand in need, you will know where to find an unfailing friend.”
Mrs. Bray put up her hands, and replied, “No, no, no; don't think of such a thing. I am not mercenary. I never serve a friend for money.”
But Mrs. Dinneford heard the “yes” which flushed into the voice that said “no.” She was not deceived.