I laughed. “Vane's bolted and taken the week's money with him.” “The beast!” she said. “I knew he was that sort. What ever made you take up with him? Will it make much difference to you?” “It makes a difference all round,” I replied. “There's no money to pay any of you. There's nothing to pay your fares back to London.” She had risen. “Here, let me understand this,” she said. “Are you the rich mug Vane's been representing you to be, or only his accomplice?” “The mug and the accomplice both,” I answered, “without the rich. It's his tour. He put my name to it because he didn't want his own to appear--for family reasons. It's his play; he stole it--” She interrupted me with a whistle. “I thought it looked a bit fishy, all those alterations. But such funny things do happen in this profession! Stole it, did he?” “The whole thing in manuscript. I put my name to it for the same reason--he didn't want his own to appear.” She dropped into her chair and laughed--a good-tempered laugh, loud and long. “Well, I'm damned!” she said. “The first man who has ever taken me in. I should never have signed if I had thought it was his show. I could see the sort he was with half an eye.” She jumped up from the chair. “Here, let me get out of this,” she said. “I just looked in to know what time to-morrow; I'd forgotten. You needn't say I came.” Her hand upon the door, laughter seized her again, so that for support she had to lean against the wall. “Do you know why I really did come?” she said. “You'll guess when you come to think it over, so I may as well tell you. It's a bit of a joke. I came to say 'yes' to what you asked me last night. Have you forgotten?” I stared at her. Last night! It seemed a long while ago--so very unimportant what I might have said. She laughed again. “So help me! if you haven't. Well, you asked me to run away with you--that's all, to let our two souls unite. Damned lucky I took a day to think it over! Good-night.” “Good-night,” I answered, without moving. I was gripping a chair to prevent myself from rushing at her, pushing her out of the room, and locking the door. I wanted to be alone. I heard her turn the handle. “Got a pound or two to carry you over?” It was a woman's voice. I put my hand into my pocket. “One pound seventeen,” I answered, counting it. “It will pay my fare to London--or buy me a dinner and a second-hand revolver. I haven't quite decided yet.” “Oh, you get back and pull yourself together,” she said. “You're only a kid. Good-night.”