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."

I put a few things into a small bag and walked thirty miles that night
into Belfast. Arrived in London, I took a lodging in Deptford, where
I was least likely to come in contact with any face I had ever seen
before. I maintained myself by giving singing lessons at sixpence the
half-hour, evening lessons in French and German (the Lord forgive me!)
to ambitious shop-boys at eighteen pence a week, making up tradesmen's
books. A few articles of jewellery I had retained enabled me to tide
over bad periods. For some four months I existed there, never going
outsid