She thought of it anxiously,
she thought of it long. Not one! There the choice was, steadily
confronting her: the choice of taking the Rogue, or of turning her back
on the Purpose.
She paused in the middle of the room. "What can he do at his worst?" she
said to herself. "Cheat me. Well! if my money governs him for me, what
then? Let him have my money!" She returned mechanically to her place by
the window. A moment more decided her. A moment more, and she took the
first fatal step downward-she determined to face the risk, and try
Captain Wragge.
At nine o'clock the landlady knocked at Magdalen's door, and informed
her (with the captain's kind compliments) that breakfast was ready.
She found Mrs. Wragge alone, attired in a voluminous brown holland
wrapper, with a limp cape and a trimming of dingy pink ribbon. The
ex-waitress at Darch's Dining-rooms was absorbed in the contemplation
of a large dish, containing a leathery-looking substance of a mottled
yellow color, profusely sprinkled with little black spots.
"There it is!" said Mrs. Wragge. "Omelette with herbs. The landlady
helped me. And that's what we've made of it. Don't you ask the captain
for any when he comes in--don't, there's a good soul.
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