The girl turned a startled look upon him, and was about to make some passionate reply, but suddenly checked herself.
"Don't ask me, Grif," she said, in a hard voice. "How is your lady?"
Her old spirit was coming upon her. Grif knew that she meant Alice by "your lady," and he was hurt by the scornful ring of her voice. Seeing that he was grieved, Milly said:
"Don't mind me, Grif; now I'm soft, and now I'm hard. I've got the devil in me sometimes, and I can't keep him down. But I mustn't think--I mustn't think--I mustn't think. Of course, I've got a mother and father, and my mother and father's got a daughter they might be proud of. Everybody used to tell me so. I had a pretty face, pretty hands, pretty feet, pretty hair. I'm a pretty daughter altogether! Why wasn't I ugly? Then I might have been good!"
She took the baby from Grif s arms, and pressed it to her bosom.
"If I knew how to be good," she said, in a softened voice, "I think I would be. But I don't know how. If I was to go out of this house to-night, I shouldn't know which way to turn to be good. I'd be sure to turn wrong. I don't care!" And then she sang, recklessly, "I'm happy, I'm careless, I'm good-natured and free; and I don't care a single pin what the world thinks of me!"
"Don't, Milly! don't!" pleaded Grif, placing his hand upon hers, and looking earnestly at her.
She took his hand convulsively, and put it to her baby's lips.
"That won't do baby any harm," she said, after a pause. "I wonder if baby will grow up pretty, like me. Oh, I hope not, I hope not!"
"She's got eyes like your'n," said Grif, wishing to change her humour.