“Horrid wretch!”
“My dear!” and George directed her attention to Joan’s watchful eyes.
“Oh, that mite can’t understand anything!”
“I am not so sure. And remember, we don’t know yet with certainty whether this person is the mother. And, if she is, we do not know why she left the child, or what prevented her return.”
“It is all as plain as daylight to me,” said Dulcibel. “She is a cruel, heartless woman, and wanted to get rid of the little darling, and didn’t care whether she were drowned or not.”
“Women do occasionally jump by accident to a right conclusion,” said George calmly. “But whether you have done so in this instance remains to be proved.”
“Well, but go on. You haven’t told me half,” said Dulcibel. “What did you do?”
“I had a long round of inquiries to make, before, lighting on the track of this person. Her name is Brooke.”
“Joan Brooke! Well, it might be worse. I like people to have nice names; but Jones or Smith would be uglier.”
“The woman in whose cottage she is staying speaks of the child as handsome and affectionate, with black eyes, somewhere about three years old.”