He caught the gleam in her eyes, the sudden hopelessness which
fell like a cloud upon her face. He spoke promptly and with
decision.
"As a matter of fact," he remarked, "you do not know yourself.
You are just going to drift out of this place and very likely
find your way to a seat on the Embankment again."
Her lips quivered. She had tried to be brave but it was hard.
"Not necessarily," she replied. "Something may turn up."
He leaned a little across the table towards her.
"Listen," he said, deliberately, "I will make a proposition to
you. It has come to me during the last few minutes. I am tired
of the boarding-house and I wish to leave it. The work which I
do at night is becoming more and more important. I should like
to take two rooms somewhere. If I take a third, would you care
to call yourself what I called you to the charwoman last night
-- my sister? I should expect you to look after the meals and my
clothes, and help me in certain other ways. I cannot give you
much of a salary," he continued, "but you would have an
opportunity during the daytime of looking out for some work, if
that is what you want, and you would at least have a roof and
plenty to eat and drink."
She looked at him in blank amazement. It was obvious that his
proposition was entirely honest.
"But, Mr. Tavernake," she protested, "you forget that I am not
really your sister."
"Does that matter?" he asked, without flinching. "I think you
understand the sort of person I am.
Pages:
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58