He watched her, from under lowered lids, and with a furtive smile on his lips, sweep from the room, then twitched up his shoulders to a noiseless laugh. To make certain of her fixed resolution--that was why he had provoked her to that last retort. Now at length it should be safe for him to act. If only that dubious manner of hers had left him with more conviction as to his own ultimate profit in the matter! But like enough it had been mere coquetry. He left Whitehall shortly, and made his way to “The Mischief” Inn, where he found Mrs. Davis bored to death over her confinement to her room, and in a very fractious mood. “Have you come to take me away?” she said. “You called yourself my friend.” “Why, so I am,” he answered. “What have I done to disprove it?” “You’ve done nothing, sure; and that’s what.” “Didn’t I pay your reckoning?” “O! it’s true you opened the trap door; but you must go and tie me by the tail first.” He laughed. “’Twas to keep my country mouse from the gib-cats. No reflection on her.” “So to keep her from the cats you set a dog on her. A nice one I owe you for that beast of a landlord.” “Well, he’s called off, and here am I to redeem my word. Will you come with me?” “Where to?” “To the tailor and the haberdasher first of all. Will that suit you?” “Very well--if another pays.” “So? That’s settled, then. We must have you dressed to the part.” “What part?” She affected, perhaps felt, a passing perturbation, but it served for no more than to add a thrill to her voice. And then, suddenly, her eyes brightened. “Have you got me a London engagement, George?” she said--“perhaps in the King’s theatre!”--and she clasped her hands rapturously. “Why,” said he, “an engagement, true enough; but ’tis on the human stage.” Her lip fell dolefully. “O, curse that!” “Mrs. Moll,” he said, “I shall be obliged if you will study to express your feelings less epigrammatically.” “What’s that?” she said. “Why, in your case, ’tis another word for cursing.” “I only know of one other,” said she; “but I’ll damn it with all my heart, if that likes you better.” “I like neither one nor t’other: ’tis to turn to ‘bitter-sweets’ those cherry-seeming lips of yours, and make poison of their nectar.” She was sitting at the table, her elbows propped on it, her chin on her fists, and, so disposed, she put out her tongue at him. “Gingumbobs!” she said; and that was all. “And, in short,” said he, rising--for he too was seated--“I think I’ll say good day to you.” Sobered at once, she jumped to her feet, and intercepted him. “What have I said, sure? Don’t never mind a silly wench. I’ll do what you want of me--there!” He stood arrested, but as if unwillingly. “I doubt your capacity, child; or your art to curb your tongue. A fig for that when Moll is Moll; but once she shapes herself to my designs, good speech must go with good looks.” She seemed as if she would cry.