“Can I, oh, can I ever be all he wants—­all he thinks I am?”

And then she proceeded to dress; the holey stockings were replaced by others that had seen less service; the worn frills and laces were changed for others less threadbare.  This done, Hermione, with many supple twists, wriggled dexterously into her best dress, pausing now and then to sigh mournfully and grieve over its many deficiencies and shortcomings, defects which only feminine eyes, so coldly critical, might hope to behold.

Scarcely was all this accomplished when she heard a soft knock at the outer door, and at the sound her heart leapt; she flushed and paled and stood a moment striving to stay the quick, heavy throbbing within her bosom; then breathlessly she hastened along the passage and, opening the door with trembling hands, beheld Bud M’Ginnis.  While she stared, dumb and amazed, he entered and, closing the door, leaned his broad back against it.

“Goin’ away, Hermy?” he enquired softly, looking her over with his slow gaze.

“Yes.”

“Goin’ far, Hermy?”

“I don’t know.”

“Goin’—­alone, Hermy?”

“Why are you here?  What do you want?”

“T’ save ye from—­hell!” he answered, his voice rising loud and harsh on the last word.  “Oh, I know,” he went on fiercely, “I know why you’re all dolled up in your best.  I know as you mean t’ go away to-night with—­him.  But you ain’t goin’, girl—­you ain’t.”

“To-night,” she said gently, “is my wedding night.”

M’Ginnis lifted a hand and wrenched at the silken neckerchief he wore as though it choked him.

“No!” he cried, “you ain’t a-goin’ t’ get no wedding, Hermy; he don’t mean t’ give ye a square deal.  He’s foolin’ ye—­foolin’ ye, girl!  Oh,” said he through shut teeth, “ye thought I was safe out o’ the way, I guess.  You ought t’ known better; th’ p’lice couldn’t hold me, they never will.  Anyway, I’ve kept tabs on ye—­I know as you’ve been meeting him—­in a wood!  I know,” here M’Ginnis seemed to choke again, “I know of you an’ him—­kissin’ an’ cuddlin’—­oh, I’ve kept tabs on ye—­”

“Yes,” she said gently, “I saw your spy at work.”

“But y’ can’t deny it.  Y’ don’t deny it!  Say, what kind o’ girl are you?”

“The kind that doesn’t fear men like you.”

“But y’ can’t deny meetin’ him,” he repeated, his hoarse voice quivering; “you don’t deny—­kissin’ him—­in a wood!  Only deny it, Hermy, only say you didn’t, an’ I’ll choke th’ life out of any guy as says you did—­only deny it, Hermy.”

“But I don’t want to deny it.  If your spy had ears he can tell you that we are going to be married.  Now go.”

Once more M’Ginnis reached up to his throat and trenched off the neckerchief altogether.

“Married!” he cried, “an’ t’ him!  He’s foolin’ ye, Hermy, by God he is!  Girl, I’m tellin’ ye straight an’ true—­he’ll never marry ye.  His kind don’t marry Tenth Av’ner girls—­Nooport an’ Fifth Av’ner’s a good ways from Hell’s Kitchen an’ Tenth Av’ner, an’ they can’t ever come t’gether, I reckon.”