Enchantment
Sailing in the hansom down Fifth Avenue, Loftus thought of that first interview with the girl, of the den in which it had occurred and of his subsequent visits there. Since the introduction he had seen her three times, seen, too, of course, that she was not up to Fanny, but he had seen also that she was less ambitious, more tractable in every way. Besides, one is not loved every afternoon. To him that was the main point, and of that point he was now tolerably sure.
Suddenly the hansom tacked, veered and landed him at the ex-first lady’s door.
“ Bonjour, mon beau seigneur ,” the woman began when, presently, he reached her lair. “The little one will not delay.”
“And then?”
“Be tranquil. I have other cats to whip.”
Mme. Machin was hatted and gloved. Loftus stuck his hand in his pocket. Mme. Machin was too genteel to notice. From the pocket he drew a roll of yellow bills. Mme. Machin affected entire unconcern. The bills he put in her paw. Mme. Machin was so entirely unconscious of the liberty that she turned to the mantel, picked up a bag of bead, opened it, took from it a little puff with which she dusted her nose. Then the puff went back into the bag. With it went the bills.
“I run,” she announced. She moved to the door. There, looking at Loftus over her shoulder, she stopped. “You come again?”
For reply Loftus made a gesture.