“She will?” Mrs. Dinneford became uneasy, and arose from her chair.
“Manage her the best you can. Here are thirty dollars--all the money I have with me. Give her that, and promise more if necessary. I will see you again.”
“Then you had better come to-morrow morning. I shall not go out.”
“I will be here at eleven o'clock. Induce her if possible to leave the city--to go South, so that she may never come back.”
“The best I can shall be done,” replied Mrs. Bray as she folded the bank-bills she had received from Mrs. Dinneford in a fond, tender sort of way and put them into her pocket.
Mrs. Dinneford retired, saying as she did so,
An instant change came over the shallow face of the wiry little woman as the form of Mrs. Dinneford vanished through the door. A veil seemed to fall away from it. All its virtuous sobriety was gone, and a smile of evil satisfaction curved about her lips and danced in her keen black eyes. She stood still, listening to the retiring steps of her visitor, until she heard the street door shut. Then, with a quick, cat-like step, she crossed to the opposite side of the room, and pushed open a door that led to an adjoining chamber. A woman came forward to meet her. This woman was taller and stouter than Mrs. Bray, and had a soft, sensual face, but a resolute mouth, the under jaw slightly protruding. Her eyes were small and close together, and had that peculiar wily and alert expression you sometimes see, making you think of a serpent's eyes. She was dressed in common finery and adorned by cheap jewelry.
“What do you think of that, Pinky Swett?” exclaimed Mrs. Bray, in a voice of exultation. “Got her all right, haven't I?”
“Well, you have!” answered the woman, shaking all over with unrestrained laughter. “The fattest pigeon I've happened to see for a month of Sundays. Is she very rich?”
“Her husband is, and that's all the same. And now, Pinky”--Mrs. Bray assumed a mock gravity of tone and manner--“you know your fate--New Orleans and the yellow fever. You must pack right off. Passage free and a hundred dollars for funeral expenses. Nice wet graves down there--keep off the fire;” and she gave a low chuckle.
“Oh yes; all settled. When does the next steamer sail?” and Pinky almost screamed with merriment. She had been drinking.