However, the rayed eyelashes didn't wither, merely becoming so many adders' tongues once more.
"For Gawd's sake, Mac, don't be so cold! D'y' want me to tellya something? Well, when you cash in, the undertaker won't need no ice t' keep yuh from corruption"—she searched for an even more exquisite figure— "But you should worry. You'll never melt in my snowy bosom. I ain't a-waistin' my tender caresses on no iceberg! So, put that in your pipe an' smoke it!"
"So, little ewelamb, you've seen the light at last," he drawled, then mused for a second.
"What do you want me to do?" he threw out.
Not that he didn't know, but it was always his way to let the other make the suggestion. It flattered the tool, and, in heavier transactions, transferred the burden of the guilt.
She rose to it.
"Old man's got money," she growled out surlily.
Now this attitude was surprising in Carlotta, after her care of the lamb she might have shorn long ere this, and it seemed to pain MacAllister—at least his eyes were expressing an infinite pathos.
"Carlotta"—he groaned and the voice matched his eyes—"you've committed a crime!"
Involuntarily she jerked her head over her shoulder, the black mane snapping like a tangle of whips in the wind.
"What d'y' mean—crime?" she shot out in alarm, fast forgetting the queen of tragedy.
Not that she was conscious of anything capital, but when one trained with MacAllister, one felt such possibilities to be probabilities.