She was thoroughly natural and the humour lurking in her
sparkling eyes was a weapon which few could resist. Dr. Mountchance
unclasped a leather pouch and extracted a guinea.

"You've a mighty coaxing tongue, you baggage. Keep it to yourself that I
gave you what you asked, lest my reputation as a fair dealing man be
gone for ever."

"Oh, you may trust me to keep my mouth shut," said Lavinia with mock
gravity.

A sweeping curtsey and she turned towards the door. At the same moment a
lady cloaked and hooded like herself entered. They stared at each other
as they passed.

Lavinia recognised Sally Salisbury, though the latter was much more
finely dressed than when they encountered each other outside the
Maidenhead Tavern in St. Giles. Sally was not so sure about Lavinia. The
slim girl was now a woman. She carried herself with an air. She had
exchanged her shabby garments for clothes of a fashionable cut which she
knew how to wear. Still, some chord in Sally's memory was stirred and
she advanced into the shop with a puzzled look on her face.

Mountchance received his fresh customer obsequiously. He had made a good
deal of money out of Sally; she never brought him anything which was not
valuable and worth buying. Sometimes her treasures were presents from
admirers, sometimes they were the proceeds of highway robberies. The
latter yielded the most profit. The would-be sellers dared not haggle.
They were only too anxious to get rid of their ill-gotten gains.

The old man bowed Sally Salisbury into his inner room. He knew that the
business which had brought her to him was one that meant privacy. He
ceremoniously placed a chair for her and awaited her pleasure.

The lady was in no hurry. She caught sight of the gold brooch lying on
the table, took it up and examined it. On the back was graven "A.D. to
Lavinia." Sally's dark arched eyebrows contracted.

"Lavinia," she thought. "So it _was_ that little squalling cat. I hate
her. She's tumbled on her feet--like all cats. But for the letters I'd
say she'd flung herself at the head of _my_ man."

Sally was thinking of her encounter with Lavinia outside the Maiden Head
tavern. Lancelot Vane was then sitting in the bow window of the
coffee-room. True he was in a drunken sleep but this would make no
difference. Lavinia, Sally decided, was in a fair way to earn her
living, much as Sally herself did--the toy of the bloods of fashion one
day, the companions of highwaymen and bulli