"To be sure. You never had diphtheria, I suppose? Well, I've had it, and I can tell you it's awful. I had it years ago in the hospital, and I'll never forget it, never."
"But the doctors saved your life," said Michael. "Why shouldn't they save hers?"
"Ah! Why not? See, there are the cabs. Oh, Mr. Betts, I wish you would let me come with you!"
"So you shall if you like," said Michael, touched by the grief the girl displayed, and feeling drawn to her by a bond of sympathy.
The girl signalled to a cabman, and when the vehicle drew up by the kerb, she helped Michael to get into it. She was struck by the feebleness of his movements.
"Have you been ill, Mr. Betts?" she asked. "I really hardly knew you when first I looked at you. You've altered sadly since I last saw you."
"When was that?" he asked. "I can't remember where I've seen you before, yet I seem to know your face."
"Oh, I'm about sometimes in the neighbourhood of your shop," she answered vaguely.
"And how did you come to know Mrs. Lavers and her little girl?"
"Oh, I belongs to a girls' club, and Mrs. Lavers is one of the ladies who comes there. But there ain't another like her; no, we all says that. She's an angel of a woman, that's what she is. Sometimes she would bring her little girl with her to the club. She's the prettiest, daintiest little creature you ever could see."