the while at close range, one eye nearly shut and her face
distorted by a whimsical, one-sided grimace.

"My dear man," she asked abruptly, "do you expect any good to come
of this?"

"I do hope so indeed, Miss Jacobus." I tried to speak in the easy
tone of an afternoon caller. "You see, I am here after some bags."

"Bags! Look at that now! Didn't I hear you holding forth to that
graceless wretch?"

"You would like to see me in my grave," uttered the motionless girl
hoarsely.

"Grave! What about me? Buried alive before I am dead for the sake
of a thing blessed with such a pretty father!" she cried; and
turning to me: "You're one of these men he does business with.
Well--why don't you leave us in peace, my good fellow?"

It was said in a tone--this "leave us in peace!" There was a sort
of ruffianly familiarity, a superiority, a scorn in it. I was to
hear it more than once, for you would show an imperfect knowledge
of human nature if you thought that this was my last visit to that
house--where no respectable person had put foot for ever so many
years. No, you would be very much mistaken if you imagined that
this reception had scared me away. First of all I was not going to
run before a grotesque and ruffianly old woman.

And then you mustn't forget these necessary bags. That first