George Allan England

“ Reassuringly he patted her hand, which lay upon her knee. “Listen, Harriet—it's not so bad as you're trying to make out. What is there to be scared of? Nothing! You work this right, with me, and there's a world of money in it for you and the girl. Think what a girl of her talent could do with money—the right kind of musical training! It 'll be the making of her, and—”
“Don't, don't!”
“Oughtn't a mother to make some effort, some sacrifice, for her daughter, even if not for herself? Of course she had! There's not a ghost of a risk anywhere. I'm an expert on ghosts, and I know! ”

“ Now she stood, her hands gripped together at her breast, looking at the professor as one might perhaps look at a rattlesnake coiled to strike—looking with fascination and terror mingled.
“See here, Harriet,” he proffered, forcing a smile that disclosed his gold tooth, “we can't talk here. There's too much possible eavesdropping in a boarding house. Walk out with me. There's a little park down the street, diagonally across from the post office. That 'll do. We can sit on a bench there and talk this thing out without anybody butting in.” ”