“Well, there’s his wife.”
“She is with her people in California. She will stay till he gets back, and anyway——”
“Where are her father’s people? Why don’t they come forward?” Mr. Crump again came into the conversation.
“His parents are dead, and he was an only child. If he had any near relatives, we do not know where they are.”
“Humph! I understand. Well, as far as I can see we’d better put the girl in some good institution; there are plenty of them. What with taxes and the high cost of living it isn’t up to any of us to increase our expenses.”
Ellen smothered a little cry of dismay and clenched her hands. An institution! She choked back her tears. She must be brave. She must not let them see.
There was a moment’s complete silence. Mr. Crump sat with his hands clasped over his ample front, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and an expression which said, “The oracle has spoken.” Mrs. Shirley looked across with a satisfied smile at Mrs. Barton, who lifted her hands and let them fall helplessly into her lap, intimating that there was nothing further to be said. Miss Orinda alone looked at Ellen, who sat with downcast eyes, clenched hands, and a heaving breast.
It was but for a moment that Miss Orinda regarded the girl; then she sprang to her feet. “Rosanne’s child shall not go to an institution!” she cried. “Take off your things, Ellen. You are going to live with me, and pray Heaven you will make a capable, useful woman.”
Ellen’s mute misery changed to an expression of intense relief. “Oh!” she breathed tremblingly.
“Well, that’s good of you, Rindy,” declared Mr. Crump, rising from his chair, “though, after all, you are the best fixed to give the girl a home. You live alone, own your own house, have a garden, and in this little place living can’t be as high as in the city.”