“I believe so,” he said.
“Poor girl, poor girl!” murmured the kind-hearted doctor, turning his face away. “So suddenly.”
“My heart bleeds for her!” said Spenser Churchill, wiping away something that may have been a tear. “So young and friendless——”
“Friendless?” said the doctor.
“Well, I am given to understand she has no father or mother,” he explained. “I should not have said friendless. I trust, I humbly trust, that, seeing I was on the spot, sent, so to speak, providentially, that she will permit me to be of some service to her, poor young thing.”
He took out his cardcase and handed a card.
The doctor glanced at it and bowed.
“Oh, Mr. Spenser Churchill? Your name is known to me, sir, of course; and I feel that I am justified in saying that this poor girl will indeed have a friend in you, if you are the Mr. Spenser Churchill, the well-known philanthropist.”
Spenser Churchill cast down his eyes and sighed.
“I have no claim to so high a title, doctor,” he said, meekly, “though I trust I may say that I take a humble interest in any good work. Poor girl, poor girl! I fear there will have to be an inquest? That will be a terrible trial for her!” and he shot a glance under his lids at the doctor’s thoughtful face.