"
"All I say is," persisted the singular conductor--"all I say is--she's a
lady, she is--a regular real lady! She chooses her company--and quite
right too! That I do say, and nobody's going to stop my mouth." His
manner was the least in the world heated.
"What's that?" asked Paul Ford, with a sudden start, not inquiring what
Thomas Chadwick's mouth was, but pointing to an object which was lying
on the seat in the corner which Mrs Clayton Vernon had too briefly
occupied.
He rose and picked up the object, which had the glitter of gold.
"Give it here," said Thomas Chadwick, commandingly. "It's none of your
business to touch findings in my car;" and he snatched the object from
Paul Ford's hands.
It was so brilliant and so obviously costly, however, that he was
somehow obliged to share the wonder of it with his passengers. The find
levelled all distinctions between them. A purse of gold chain-work, it
indiscreetly revealed that it was gorged with riches. When you shook it
the rustle of banknotes was heard, and the chink of sovereigns, and
through the meshes of the purse could be seen the white of valuable
paper and the tawny orange discs for which mankind is so ready to commit
all sorts of sin.
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