"Very."
"And you're not done paying," she added significantly.
"That remains to be seen."
Dr. Harpe's eyes narrowed in thought.
"Ess," in a patronizing drawl, "why don't you pull your freight? I'll
advance you the money myself."
"Run away? Why?"
"You're going to be arrested--that's a straight tip. You may get off,
but think what you'll have to go through first. Skip till things simmer
down. They'll not go after you."
The girl flashed a smile of real merriment at her, which almost cost Dr.
Harpe her self-control. The young and now glowing beauty of the girl
before her, the unconscious air of superiority and confidence which had
its wellspring in some mysterious source was maddening to her. The
interview was taxing her self-control to the limit and she felt that in
some inexplicable way the tables were turning.
"You--won't go, then?" Her voice held a menace.
"Why should I, since I am innocent? Take a vacation yourself, Dr. Harpe,
with the money you so generously offer me. You need it."
She followed the girl's dancing eyes to the mirror opposite which was
tilted so that it reflected the whole of her uncouth pose. Slid far down
in the chair with her heels resting on the floor and wrinkling hose
exposed above her boottops, a knot of dull, red hair slipped to one side
with shorter ends hanging in dishevelment about her face, she
looked--the thought was her own--like a drab of the streets in the
magistrate's court in the morning. She was startled, shocked by her own
appearance. Was she, Emma Harpe, as old, as haggard, as evil-looking as
that!
She had clung with peculiar tenacity to the hallucination that she still
had youthful charm of face and figure. As she stared, it seemed as
though the sand was sliding a little faster from beneath her feet. She
shoved the loose knot of hair to its place and straightened herself,
growing hot at the realization that she had betrayed to Essie Tisdale
something of her consternation.