But she could hear
his voice. He was remonstrating with the little man in the doorway.
Lavinia touched the man on the shoulder. He turned, stared and seeing
only a pretty girl favoured her with a leer.
"How much does Mr. Vane owe you?" said Lavinia, chinking the coins.
"Eh, my dear? Are you going to pay his debt? Lucky young man. Nine weeks
at three shillings a week comes to twenty-seven shillings. There ought
to be a bit for the lawyer who wrote the notice to quit. But I'll let
you off that because of your pretty face."
Lavinia counted the money into the grimy outstretched paw. Moggs' face
wrinkled into a smirk.
"Much obleeged, my young madam. I'll wager as the spark you've saved
from being turned into the street'll thank you more to your liking than
an old fellow like me could."
Solomon Moggs made a low bow and was turning away when Lancelot Vane
suddenly appeared. His face was very pallid and he clutched the door to
steady himself. What with his evident weakness and his bandaged head he
presented rather a pitiable picture.
"What's all this?" he demanded. "I'm not going to take your money,
madam."
"It's not mine," cried Lavinia in a rather disappointed tone. She could
see he did not remember her.
"Faith an' that's gospel truth," chuckled Moggs. "It's mine and it's not
going into anybody else's pocket." And he hastily shuffled down the
staircase.
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