"Now, Eily, you may go; the ladies and gentlemen have looked at you long
enough. Here is something to buy a new gown and bonnet," and Leslie
Hamilton, with a patronising smile, put some gold into her hand.
"How kind and considerate!" murmured the highborn dames as they turned
away.
He escorted the girl to the door, and drew aside the _portiere_
courteously, but his face became livid with rage as he spoke in a low,
stern voice, "Go, girl! never dare to come here again--if you do, I
swear I will call the police!"
He closed the door after her retreating figure, and turned with a smile
to the company; his eyes sought those of beautiful Bee Vandaleur, but
she had gone.
Outside in the busy street Eily stood, leaning for support against a
stone pillar. She heard nothing, saw nothing. A mist swam before her
eyes; she was dumb with shame and disappointment; her face, a moment
before so eager, was pale as death, and deep sobs that came from her
very soul shook her poor body. She clenched the gold in her hands, and
then with a bitter, passionate cry threw it into the street, and watched
while two street-urchins picked it up and ran off with their
treasure-trove.
"May I help you, my poor girl? Are you in trouble?" Bee Vandaleur spoke
gently and softly; she had heard all that passed between the artist and
his model.
Eily looked up. "Oh, me lady, God bless ye! but I'm past the helping
now! I loved him, I would have died to save him from a minute's sorrow,
and he threatened the police on me!"
"Come with me; I will take care of you, and you shall tell me all.
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