“Yes,” replied Mrs. Graham, briefly.
“Poor thing!” murmured Lady Coningham, involuntarily. She moved forward and bent over the child, stroking back the rich, golden-red curls. “Poor wee thing! How pretty she is!”
Mardie smiled and showed her pearly teeth as she rapped her spoon impatiently on the table.
“Din-din,” she cried, eagerly; “Mardie so ’ungry!”
Lady Coningham stood by while Mrs. Graham prepared the child’s meal. She said nothing, but two tears rolled down her cheeks and fell upon her well-gloved hand. As soon as the child was well started, she turned and motioned Mrs. Graham to the fireplace.
“Can you tell me anything about her?” she asked, quickly.
Mrs. Graham shook her head.
“We have no idea,” she answered; then she spoke of the letter and the doctor’s intention of telegraphing to Mrs. Huntley.
“Yes—yes, that will be best. My object in coming here, Mrs. Graham, was to speak about the child. I met Dr. Scott, who told me, briefly, of the mother’s death and your kindness; and I hurried here to see what I could do. Sir Hubert is one of the magistrates; therefore, as his wife, I consider it my duty to take up the case. Perhaps my efforts will not be required for long—I sincerely hope not—it will be a sad lookout for this baby if we cannot find her friends.”
“It is the merest chance,” Mrs. Graham observed. “This lady in Yorkshire may have received the name and references. I earnestly trust she has.”