‘Yes, mother.’
‘If it’s one of those horrid people you visit, don’t let her come in. We don’t want fevers here.’
‘Oh, mother, there’s no fear of that. It’s little Gertie Heckett.’
‘What, the model child of Seven Dials? Take your father’s overcoat out of the hall at once.’
‘Mother!’ exclaimed Ruth, reddening, ‘how cruel you are! I shall bring her in, and you shall see her.’
‘I shall have to sprinkle the room with camphor if you do. I expect we shall all be murdered in our beds; that’ll be the end of your encouraging all these bad characters.’
Ruth was out of the room and in the hall before her mother could finish the sentence.
Gertie, shamefaced, trembling, and red-eyed, stood in the hall; Lion was close by her side, motionless as a statue. He wagged his tail as Ruth came towards him, but he never barked. He was a well-bred dog, and knew how to behave in a lady’s house.
Ruth stooped down and kissed the poor trembling little one, and tried to put her at her ease. All was so new and strange to her, and the excitement of the last two hours had been so great, that Gertie was quite unnerved. She attempted to speak, and then the pent-up emotion found an outlet. Sobbing hysterically, she fell on her knees and asked Ruth to protect her.
Ruth was deeply moved herself; the genuine grief of the child and her quick sobs told her that Gertie had gone through much that evening.