She drew a heavy packet from the recesses of the muff she carried.
"All the particulars are here," she said. "The name of the steamer,
the name of the man, and money. You will be told where to get more in
New York, if you need it."
He took it from her mechanically. She rose to her feet.
"You will remember," she said, looking into his eyes.
"I ain't likely to forget anything you've said tonight," he answered
honestly. "But look here! Let me take you home--just this once! Give
me something to think about."
She shook her head.
"I will give you something to hope for," she whispered. "You must not
come a yard with me. When you come back it will, perhaps--be
different."
He remained behind the partition, gripping the packet tightly.
Mademoiselle Violet took a hasty adieu of Mr. Sinclair, and descended
to the street. She walked for a few yards, and then turned sharply to
the left. A hansom, into which she stepped at once, was waiting there.
She wrapped herself hastily in a long fur coat which lay upon the
seat, and thrust her hand through the trap door.
"St. Martin's Schoolroom!" she told the cabman.
Apparently Mademoiselle Violet combined a taste for philanthropy with
her penchant for Islington dancing halls. She entered the little
schoolroom and made her way to the platform, dispensing many smiles
and nods amongst the audience of the concert, which was momentarily
interrupted for her benefit.
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