Part 46 (1/2)
”Thank you very much. Would you kindly show me the way out?”
”You've forgotten something, ain't yer?”
”What?”
”A little present for me.”
”I've no money on me: really I haven't.”
”Go on!”
”See!” cried Mavis, as she turned out the pockets of her cloak.
To her great surprise, many gold coins rolled on to the floor.
”Gawd in 'Eaven!” cried Miss Ewer, as she stooped to pick them up.
Mavis wondered how they had got there, till it occurred to her how Windebank, pitying her poverty, must have taken the opportunity of putting the money in her pocket when he insisted upon getting and helping her into her coat at the restaurant.
She at once told herself that she could not touch a penny piece of it, indeed the touch of it would seem as if it burnt her fingers. Her present concern was to get away as far from the money as possible.
”'Ow much can I 'ave?” cried Miss Ewer, who was on her knees greedily picking up the coins.
”All.”
”All? Gawd's trewth!”
”Every bit. Only let me go; at once.”
”'Ere, if you're so generous, ain't you got no more?” said Miss Ewer, the while her eyes shone greedily.
”I'll see,” said Mavis, as she thoroughly turned out her pockets.
Another gold piece fell out; also, a bunch of violets.
”Vilets!” laughed Miss Ewer.
”Don't touch those. No one else shall have them,” cried Mavis, as she wildly s.n.a.t.c.hed them.
”You're welcome to that rubbage, and as you've given me all this, in return I'll give you a tip as is worth a king's money box.”
”You needn't bother.”
”You shall 'ave it. I've never told a soul. It's 'ow you can earn a living on the streets like me, and keep, like me, as good a maid as any lady married at St George's, 'Anover Square.”
”Thank you, but--”.
”Listen; listen; listen! It's dress quiet, pick up soft-looking gents, refuse drink, and pitch 'em a Sunday school yarn,” said Miss Ewer impressively.