The "Demon" waved his hand in lofty refusal.
"As Claude Melnotte says, sir, I gave you revenge—I did not sell it. There are better men than I in the world, and lots of them. But I try to do as I would be done by—at least in a scrape like this. I wish you good night, and I hope you'll take comfort. After a little it'll seem easier to you. Certainly the ill news should come easier even now than it would afterward. As Othello says, ''Tis better as it is.'"
He bowed and passed away. Ascending to the apartment of Miss De Montague, he made himself so agreeable as to be able to borrow from that lady a dozen shining eagles; and, thus provided, descended promptly to Mr. Copperas's bank, where he whiled away the night—assisted by copious drinks and unlimited cigars—at the enlivening game of faro.
As for Harding, he went to the bar of the saloon and took what was for him a stiff glass of brandy. Then he turned abruptly on his heel, and without sending his name before him, marched straight up to Miss Tinsel's room.
She met him at the door with a glad cry—and then shrank back abashed.
"I see," she murmured, in her low, sweet voice, "you don't care to have me repulse you again. You have thought it over—and you agree that it is better not."
He came just inside the door, but did not sit, although she motioned him to a chair.
"I agree," he repeated mechanically—"I agree—with you that it is better not." Then he looked suspiciously around the room. There was no one there—but a door opened into another room beyond. Jane followed his eyes. "That is Miss De Montague's room," she said; "we are always next to each other."
"And she is there now?"
"Yes—with Mr. Bellario—he is calling on her."