Within the Law [44]
again came into the apartment, seeking her. On being told by Aggie as to Mary's whereabouts, he sat down to await her return, listening without much interest to the chatter of the adventuress.... It was just then that the maid appeared.
"There's a girl wants to see Miss Turner," she explained.
The irrepressible Aggie put on her most finically elegant air.
"Has she a card?" she inquired haughtily, while the maid tittered appreciation.
"No," was the answer. "But she says it's important. I guess the poor thing's in hard luck, from the look of her," the kindly Fannie added.
"Oh, then she'll be welcome, of course," Aggie declared, and Garson nodded in acquiescence. "Tell her to come in and wait, Fannie. Miss Turner will be here right away." She turned to Garson as the maid left the room. "Mary sure is an easy boob," she remarked, cheerfully. "Bless her soft heart!"
A curiously gentle smile of appreciation softened the immobility of the forger's face as he again nodded assent.
"We might just as well pipe off the skirt before Mary gets here," Aggie suggested, with eagerness.
A minute later, a girl perhaps twenty years of age stepped just within the doorway, and stood there with eyes downcast, after one swift, furtive glance about her. Her whole appearance was that of dejection. Her soiled black gown, the cringing posture, the pallor of her face, proclaimed the abject misery of her state.
Aggie, who was not exuberant in her sympathies for any one other than herself, addressed the newcomer with a patronizing inflection, modulated in her best manner.
"Won't you come in, please?" she requested.
The shrinking girl shot another veiled look in the direction of the speaker.
"Are you Miss Turner?" she asked, in a voice broken by nervous dismay.
"Really, I am very sorry," Aggie replied, primly; "but I am only her cousin, Miss Agnes Lynch. But Miss Turner is likely to be back any minute now."
"Can I wait?" came the timid question.
"Certainly," Aggie answered, hospitably. "Please sit down."
As the girl obediently sank down on the nearest chair, Garson addressed her sharply, so that the visitor started uneasily at the unexpected sound.
"You don't know Miss Turner?"
"No," came the faint reply.
"Then, what do you want to see her about?"
There was a brief pause before the girl could pluck up courage enough for an answer. Then, it was spoken confusedly, almost in a whisper.
"She once helped a girl friend of mine, and I thought--I thought----"
"You thought she might help you," Garson interrupted.
But Aggie, too, possessed some perceptive powers, despite the fact that she preferred to use them little in ordinary affairs.
"You have been in stir--prison, I mean." She hastily corrected the lapse into underworld slang.
Came a distressed muttering of assent from the girl.
"How sad!" Aggie remarked, in a voice of shocked pity for one so inconceivably unfortunate. "How very, very sad!"
This ingenuous method of diversion was put to an end by the entrance of Mary, who stopped short on seeing the limp figure huddled in the chair.
"A visitor, Agnes?" she inquired.
At the sound of her voice, and before Aggie could hit on a fittingly elegant form of reply, the girl looked up. And now, for the first time, she spoke with some degree of energy, albeit there was a sinister undertone in the husky voice.
"You're Miss Turner?" she questioned.
"Yes," Mary said, simply. Her words rang kindly; and she smiled encouragement.
A gasp burst from the white lips of the girl, and she cowered as one stricken physically.
"Mary Turner! Oh, my God! I----" She hid her face within her arms and sat bent until her head rested on her knees in an abasement of misery.
Vaguely startled by the hysterical outburst from the girl, Mary's immediate thought was that here was a pitiful instance of one suffering from starvation.
"Joe," she directed rapidly, "have Fannie bring a glass of milk with an egg and a little brandy in it, right away."
The girl in the chair was
"There's a girl wants to see Miss Turner," she explained.
The irrepressible Aggie put on her most finically elegant air.
"Has she a card?" she inquired haughtily, while the maid tittered appreciation.
"No," was the answer. "But she says it's important. I guess the poor thing's in hard luck, from the look of her," the kindly Fannie added.
"Oh, then she'll be welcome, of course," Aggie declared, and Garson nodded in acquiescence. "Tell her to come in and wait, Fannie. Miss Turner will be here right away." She turned to Garson as the maid left the room. "Mary sure is an easy boob," she remarked, cheerfully. "Bless her soft heart!"
A curiously gentle smile of appreciation softened the immobility of the forger's face as he again nodded assent.
"We might just as well pipe off the skirt before Mary gets here," Aggie suggested, with eagerness.
A minute later, a girl perhaps twenty years of age stepped just within the doorway, and stood there with eyes downcast, after one swift, furtive glance about her. Her whole appearance was that of dejection. Her soiled black gown, the cringing posture, the pallor of her face, proclaimed the abject misery of her state.
Aggie, who was not exuberant in her sympathies for any one other than herself, addressed the newcomer with a patronizing inflection, modulated in her best manner.
"Won't you come in, please?" she requested.
The shrinking girl shot another veiled look in the direction of the speaker.
"Are you Miss Turner?" she asked, in a voice broken by nervous dismay.
"Really, I am very sorry," Aggie replied, primly; "but I am only her cousin, Miss Agnes Lynch. But Miss Turner is likely to be back any minute now."
"Can I wait?" came the timid question.
"Certainly," Aggie answered, hospitably. "Please sit down."
As the girl obediently sank down on the nearest chair, Garson addressed her sharply, so that the visitor started uneasily at the unexpected sound.
"You don't know Miss Turner?"
"No," came the faint reply.
"Then, what do you want to see her about?"
There was a brief pause before the girl could pluck up courage enough for an answer. Then, it was spoken confusedly, almost in a whisper.
"She once helped a girl friend of mine, and I thought--I thought----"
"You thought she might help you," Garson interrupted.
But Aggie, too, possessed some perceptive powers, despite the fact that she preferred to use them little in ordinary affairs.
"You have been in stir--prison, I mean." She hastily corrected the lapse into underworld slang.
Came a distressed muttering of assent from the girl.
"How sad!" Aggie remarked, in a voice of shocked pity for one so inconceivably unfortunate. "How very, very sad!"
This ingenuous method of diversion was put to an end by the entrance of Mary, who stopped short on seeing the limp figure huddled in the chair.
"A visitor, Agnes?" she inquired.
At the sound of her voice, and before Aggie could hit on a fittingly elegant form of reply, the girl looked up. And now, for the first time, she spoke with some degree of energy, albeit there was a sinister undertone in the husky voice.
"You're Miss Turner?" she questioned.
"Yes," Mary said, simply. Her words rang kindly; and she smiled encouragement.
A gasp burst from the white lips of the girl, and she cowered as one stricken physically.
"Mary Turner! Oh, my God! I----" She hid her face within her arms and sat bent until her head rested on her knees in an abasement of misery.
Vaguely startled by the hysterical outburst from the girl, Mary's immediate thought was that here was a pitiful instance of one suffering from starvation.
"Joe," she directed rapidly, "have Fannie bring a glass of milk with an egg and a little brandy in it, right away."
The girl in the chair was