'I cannot leave you here, my dear child. My carriage is at the door. You must come home with me. I shall bring you back quite early to-morrow, but I must insist on taking you away to-night. It is not possible you can stay here.'
'I must, I will. You are truly kind, but I shall not leave my home till I must. I have my own little room, and I am not quite alone. Walter is up-stairs.'
Mrs. Fordyce saw that she was firm. She looked at her in wonder, noting with practised eyes the neat refinement of her poor dress, her sweet grace and delicate beauty. To find a creature so fair in such a place was like coming suddenly on a pure flower blooming in a stony street.
'Your position is very lonely, but you will not find yourself without friends. We must respect your wish to remain here, though the thought will make me unhappy to-night,' said the kind woman. 'You will promise to come to us immediately all is over?'
'If you still wish it; only there is poor Walter. It will be so dreadful for me to leave him quite alone.'
Mrs. Fordyce could not restrain a smile. The child-heart still dwelt in Gladys, though she was almost a woman grown.
'Ah, my dear, you know nothing of the world. It is like reading a fairy story to look at you and hear you speak. I hope—I hope the world will not spoil you.'
'Why should it spoil me? I can never know it except from you,' she said simply.
Mrs. Fordyce looked round the large, dimly-lighted place with eyes in which a wonder of pity lay.
'My child, is it possible that you have lived here almost two years, as my husband tells me, with no companion but an old man and a working lad?'