Whilst Melina was eating the cake which had been promised her, Mrs. Jones continued to talk of Mr. Blackmore, and by and by she said:
"He's very interested in you, child; he told me so. He asked me to try and persuade your grandmother to send you to Sunday school, but I said I couldn't interfere; do you think she'd let you go?"
"I dare say she would, but I don't want to go, Mrs. Jones."
"Why not, Melina?"
The little girl glanced expressively over her shabby frock. "I've nothing fit to wear," she admitted in a low voice, her cheeks flushing; "I haven't any Sunday clothes. If I went to Sunday school just as I am now the other children would laugh at me, and I hate being laughed at."
"But is it necessary for you to go just as you are now?" asked Mrs. Jones. "Your frock's a good deal the worse for wear certainly, but you might darn that rent in the skirt and sponge those spots out of the bodice; and I suppose you could comb your hair and make it a bit tidy, couldn't you? You have such pretty hair, Melina—that is, it would be if you kept it in better condition," she added.
Melina made no response, but the colour in her cheeks deepened.
"It is not your fault that you have to wear shabby clothes," Mrs. Jones proceeded, "but it certainly is your fault if you're untidy and dirty. Now, do try what soap and water will do towards improving your appearance, and don't take it amiss my speaking like this. I think maybe I ought to have done so before. I really felt ashamed of myself when I had to admit to Mr. Blackmore that you and your grandmother had lived next door to me for years and how little I knew about you; it came across me that I must be a poor sort of Christian, and that I'd neglected my duty towards my neighbours."
"Do you think it would please Mr. Blackmore if I went to Sunday school?" Melina asked abruptly.
"Yes, I am sure it would," was the confident response.