"She has stuck to it rather persistently," he observed; "and crossed
the seas to play it."
"Yes," said I, "she did just that; yet she is none the less liable to
quit abruptly to-morrow."
That would interest him, I thought. It did.
"You are judging from experience?" he asked, rather quickly.
"I've known the lady for a few years," I laughed, "and I've yet to find
her true either to herself or to the hand that paid her."
It was characteristic of the man that, at these last words, he made no
quick glance at my face. Instead, he studied the end of his cigar.
When he did look at me, it was in the perfectly natural way of asking a
question.
Then I got a start. He suddenly struck straight from the shoulder.
"By 'the hand that paid her,' you mean?" he asked--and now, his eyes
were fairly drilling into mine.