“Has she a card?” she inquired haughtily, while the maid tittered appreciation.
“No,” was the answer. “But she says it's important. I guess the poor thing's in hard luck, from the look of her,” the kindly Fannie added.
“Oh, then she'll be welcome, of course,” Aggie declared, and Garson nodded in acquiescence. “Tell her to come in and wait, Fannie. Miss Turner will be here right away.” She turned to Garson as the maid left the room. “Mary sure is an easy boob,” she remarked, cheerfully. “Bless her soft heart!”
A curiously gentle smile of appreciation softened the immobility of the forger's face as he again nodded assent.
“We might just as well pipe off the skirt before Mary gets here,” Aggie suggested, with eagerness.
A minute later, a girl perhaps twenty years of age stepped just within the doorway, and stood there with eyes downcast, after one swift, furtive glance about her. Her whole appearance was that of dejection. Her soiled black gown, the cringing posture, the pallor of her face, proclaimed the abject misery of her state.
Aggie, who was not exuberant in her sympathies for any one other than herself, addressed the newcomer with a patronizing inflection, modulated in her best manner.
“Won't you come in, please?” she requested.
The shrinking girl shot another veiled look in the direction of the speaker.
“Are you Miss Turner?” she asked, in a voice broken by nervous dismay.
“Really, I am very sorry,” Aggie replied, primly; “but I am only her cousin, Miss Agnes Lynch. But Miss Turner is likely to be back any minute now.”
“Certainly,” Aggie answered, hospitably. “Please sit down.”
As the girl obediently sank down on the nearest chair, Garson addressed her sharply, so that the visitor started uneasily at the unexpected sound.
“Then, what do you want to see her about?”
There was a brief pause before the girl could pluck up courage enough for an answer. Then, it was spoken confusedly, almost in a whisper.
“She once helped a girl friend of mine, and I thought--I thought----”
“You thought she might help you,” Garson interrupted.
But Aggie, too, possessed some perceptive powers, despite the fact that she preferred to use them little in ordinary affairs.
“You have been in stir--prison, I mean.” She hastily corrected the lapse into underworld slang.