“Plenty. I am not a poor man, madam; I did not use that as an inducement to you, for it’s not money-bought kindness I want for my—my poor wife’s child. But you could name what sum you like for her keep, education, anything.”
“I had not thought of that, monsieur,” said the Superior, with more dignity. “We take older girls to educate, but——”
“But not my poor lame baby. Very well.”
He was wrapping the child up quickly, when the Superior stopped him by one word uttered in a different tone.
“Stop!”
The stranger, without pausing in his work, looked up.
“Lame, did you say?”
“Yes, I said lame,” he answered shortly. “I had forgotten that further disqualification. A d——, I mean a fool of a nurse dropped her on the deck when she was seven months old, and—and she’s lame, will always be so. Come, Freda, we’ll get out in the sunshine and warm ourselves again.”
The great room was cold, and the child’s lips and nails began to look blue. But before he could reach the door, he saw the black garments beside him again, and with a quick, strong, peremptory movement the child was taken out of his arms.
“Lame! Poor angel. You should have told me that before.”