getting as nervous as an old woman."

He was in the act of lifting the glass to his lips, when the door was
flung wide open. The glass fell from his hands, and shivered upon the
floor. Moll stood before him.

She stood at the threshold with a wicked gleam in her eye, and a smile
of triumph upon her lips; then advanced into the room, closed the door
quietly, locked it, seated herself composedly in the nearest chair, and
filled herself a glass of spirits. Philip glared upon her with an
expression of mingled anger, fear and wonderment.

"Are you a devil? Where in thunder did you spring from?" he asked at
last.

"You'll make me a devil, with your tricks, Philip Searle," she said,
sipping the liquor, and looking at him wickedly over the rim of the
tumbler.

"Ha! ha! ha!" she laughed aloud, as he muttered a curse between his
clenched teeth, "I'm not the country girl, Philip dear, that I was when
you whispered your sweet nonsense in my ear. I know your game, my bully
boy, and I'll play you card for card."

"Bradshaw" shouted Philip, going to the door and striving to open it.

"It's no use," she said, "I've got the key in my pocket. Sit down. I
want to talk to you. Don't be a fool."

"Where's Bradshaw, Moll?"