Miss Adrian sighed. She was woman of the world enough to have gathered, from Gertie’s innocent confessions, what manner of man this old dog-fancier was. She had divined, far more than the child herself knew, and had long ago felt convinced that this little flower had been reared in a den of thieves.
For a weak woman like herself to attempt the regeneration of this burly reprobate she felt would be foolish, and could lead to no good result. The chances were that she would be forbidden the place, and then Gertie would be without a friend.
Her only hope was that in time Gertie might be able to have some influence herself, and might, in the hands of Providence, become a means of leading the old man into a different path.
Miss Adrian had passed from moral topics, and was hearing Gertie her spelling lesson. Gertie generally spelt the things they could see from the window and the animals in the room. It gave interest to a dry subject.
She had got beyond dogs, and cats, and rats, and animals of one syllable, and now she was in animals of two syllables.
‘Spell parrot,’ said Miss Adrian.
Polly hopped about and gave a shriek. It evidently knew it was going to be spelt, and objected strongly.
‘P-a-r,’ said Gertie.
‘Rot,’ shrieked the bird, and the vulgarism came so à propos that Miss Adrian looked at the bird half-fearfully. There was undoubtedly something uncanny about this diabolical parrot.
Just as there was a moment of dead silence after Polly’s disgraceful interruption, a footstep was heard on the stairs, and the next moment Polly burst out into a torrent of oaths.