The gentleman looked very grave to hear her, for he was sorry that such a nice little girl should be in such bad keeping. But he did not know what to say next, and stood for a moment with his eyes on the ground. When he lifted them, he saw the face of Diamond looking up in his.
“Please, sir,” said Diamond, “her grannie's very cruel to her sometimes, and shuts her out in the streets at night, if she happens to be late.”
“Is this your brother?” asked the gentleman of the girl.
“No, sir.”
“How does he know your grandmother, then? He does not look like one of her sort.”
“Oh no, sir! He's a good boy—quite.”
Here she tapped her forehead with her finger in a significant manner.
“What do you mean by that?” asked the gentleman, while Diamond looked on smiling.
“The cabbies call him God's baby,” she whispered. “He's not right in the head, you know. A tile loose.”
Still Diamond, though he heard every word, and understood it too, kept on smiling. What could it matter what people called him, so long as he did nothing he ought not to do? And, besides, God's baby was surely the best of names!