"I must live," she murmured. "Give me a little money and let me
go away."
He laughed.
"Oh, I'll do better than that for you," he answered, thrusting
his hand into his waistcoat pocket and drawing out a pile of
dollar bills. "Let's look at you. Gee whiz! Yes, you're
shabby, aren't you? Take this," he went on, slamming some notes
down before her. "Go and get yourself a new frock and a hat fit
to wear, and meet me at the Madison Square roof garden at eight
o'clock. We'll have some dinner and I guess we can fix matters
up."
Then he smiled at her again, and Beatrice, whose hand was already
upon the bills, suddenly felt her knees shake. A great black
horror was upon her. She turned and fled out of the room, past
the astonished clerk, into the lift, and was downstairs on the
main floor before she remembered where she was, what she had
done. The clerk, after gazing at her retreating form, hurried
into the inner office.
"Young woman hasn't bolted with anything, eh?" he asked.
Mr. Cruxhall smiled wickedly.
"Why, no," he replied, "I guess she'll come back!"
Tavernake left the meeting on that same afternoon with his future
practically assured for life. He had been appointed surveyor to
the company at a salary of ten thousand dollars a year, and the
mine in which his savings were invested was likely to return him
his small capital a hundredfold. Very kind things had been said
of him and to him.
Pritchard and he had left the place together.
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