Part 3 (1/2)
”Adrien, how good of you to come!” she exclaimed. ”I did not expect you so soon.”
Leroy did not seem to notice her, but looked round the room with evident displeasure. The table, with its remains of supper; the stained cloth; above all, the undesirable odour of food and stale tobacco; all seemed to fill him with disgust. Gently, but firmly, he put Ada from him.
”Jasper,” he said, turning to Vermont, ”you know why I came. Give Miss Lester the deeds of the Casket Theatre. I am tired and am going home.”
With a courteous good-night to Ada, who, without attempting to thank him for his gift, stood scowling and sullen, he pa.s.sed out of the room; while Vermont leaned back against the table with folded arms and his inevitable, but significant, smile on his face.
CHAPTER III
The night was bitterly cold; but, disdaining a taxi for so short a distance, Leroy b.u.t.toned up his coat and strode swiftly along towards his chambers in Jermyn Court, W. As he turned the corner of the square, he stumbled sharply over the slight figure of a girl, crouched near one of the doorsteps, and, with his habitual courtesy, he stopped to see if any harm had been done.
”Have I hurt you?” he asked gently, placing his hand on her shoulder.
At his touch the girl started up with a cry of distress; and, as the shawl fell back from her head, Leroy was almost startled by the vivid freshness of her beauty.
”Oh,” she exclaimed in terrified accents, ”I wasn't doing any harm! I will move on--I--I was only resting.” Then, as she saw the kindly face looking into hers, she subsided into silence.
She was quite young, not more than about sixteen, and so slenderly formed as to appear almost a child. Her features were clear-cut as a cameo and she had a slightly foreign air. Her eyes were brown, but as the light of the gas-lamp fell full on her upturned face, they showed so dark and velvety as almost to appear black, while ma.s.ses of dark hair cl.u.s.tered in heavy waves round her forehead.
Unconsciously Leroy raised his hat as he repeated his question. She shook her head at him as he bent over her, but made no reply.
”How is it you are out on such a night as this?” he asked. ”Have you no home? Where do you live?”
”Cracknell Court, Soho,” she replied, in tones singularly free from any trace of c.o.c.kney accent.
”With your parents?” queried Leroy, feeling for some money.
”No,” said the girl, her red lips quivering for a moment. ”Haven't got any--only Johann and Martha--and _they_ don't care.”
”Who is Johann?” said Leroy, with an encouraging smile.
”I don't know,” she answered listlessly. ”He's Johann Wilfer, that's all.”
”Why have you run away, then?”
”Johann came home drunk and beat me--so I ran out.”
She pushed back her ragged shawl and held up her arm, on which bruises showed up cruelly distinct. Leroy uttered an exclamation of anger.
”You poor child!” he said almost tenderly. ”What can I do for you? If I give you money----”
”Johann will take it and make me beg for more,” she interrupted; and Leroy withdrew his hand from his pocket, fearing this to be but too true.
”Will you go home, if I take you?” he began.
The girl shook her head, and dragged the old shawl closer round her s.h.i.+vering body.
”Not till morning,” she said decidedly. ”I shall be all right then.”