Ruth looked up vacantly.
‘White elephant, mother? What white elephant?’
‘This child.’
Mr. Adrian laughed.
‘Rather a baby white elephant, Ruth, isn’t she?’ he said. ‘And she comes without her trunk.’
‘John, don’t make foolish remarks. It’s no laughing matter,’ exclaimed the mistress of the house. ‘I’m not going to have this turned into a Reformatory or a Home for Lost Dogs for anybody. It isn’t respectable.’
‘I’m sure the child’s respectable enough, or Ruth wouldn’t have anything to do with her.’
‘Well, she has more clothes on than your favourite people wear, I confess, and I dare say she won’t want to eat the housemaid or to worship the kitchen fire,’ exclaimed Mrs. Adrian; ‘but, according to the way I was brought up, she belongs to a class of people with which all conversation is best avoided. Her friends, I dare say, are burglars and murderers of the worst description.’
‘But mother——’ began Ruth.
‘Don’t argue, my dear. It’s no use. I dare say Miss—Miss what’s her name—Miss Heckett is a little angel of purity and virtue—a paragon reared in the Dials; but as your mother I respectfully decline to have her under my roof. You must send her away.’