"'Has she a mother?'
"'No.'
"'Father?'
"'If he can be called one. Drunk half his time, in trouble the other half.'
"'So that poor Sophy has to look after herself?'
"'Pretty well. She does odd jobs, and picks up a bit 'ere and a bit there. When M. Felix first come to live 'ere I'd made up my mind to 'ave 'er altogether with me, though she'd 'ave worrited the life out of me, I know she would; but he wouldn't let me 'ave nobody in the house but 'im, and wouldn't let nobody sleep in it a single night, so I 'ad to disappoint the child. I did take 'er in once or twice when she came round to me almost black and bloo with the way 'er brute of a father had served 'er, but I 'ad to be careful that M. Felix shouldn't see 'er--smuggling 'er into the kitchen when he was away, and letting 'er out very early in the morning--or I should never 'ave 'eard the last of it.'
"'You are the only friend the girl has, it seems?'
"'She ain't got many more.'
"'Mind what I tell you, Mrs. Middlemore,' said our reporter, with the kindest intentions, 'there's capital stuff in Sophy. Now that M. Felix is gone it would be a charity to adopt her, if you haven't any of your own.'
"'I ain't got none of my own,' said Mrs. Middlemore, shaking her head dubiously, 'but since I arksed 'er whether she'd like to live with me, and she said she would, she's got into ways that I don't think I could abide. You see, sir, she wasn't so old then, and I might 'ave moulded her. I don't know as I could do it now.'