If you don't come she says she'll walk up here and make you come.

Them," said Johnson, plaintively, "were her own language." Blanche Oleander, gazing up at her companion's face, saw it changing to a startled, dusky white.
"Some beggar--some troublesome tramp, I dare say." But he dropped her arm abruptly as he said it.

"Excuse me a moment, Miss Oleander.

I had better see her to prevent noise.

Now, then, Johnson." Mr.Johnson led the way down a grand, sweeping staircase, rich in gilding and carving, through a paved and vaulted hall, and out into a lofty vestibule.
There a woman stood, dripping wet and wretchedly clad, as miserable-looking a creature as ever walked the bad city streets.