“Belinda,” she answered, with a look of surprise.
“Yes, I know, but your other name? Your surname?”
“Oh, I haven’t any other name!” she told him. “I’ma foundling.”
“A foundling!” he ejaculated. “Then you do not even know who your mother and father were?”
“Oh, no!” she said. “If you please, sir, may I have another apple?”
He handed her the basket. “Of course. But, my poor child, have you no relatives to whom you can him for help?”
“Oh, no!” she said again, shaking her head so that her golden curls were set quivering and bobbing. “Foundlings don’t, you know.”
“I didn’t know. That is, I had never thought—It is very dreadful!”
She agreed to this, but more with the air of one willing to please than with any particular chagrin.
“What in heaven’s name am I to do with you?” said the Duke, looking harassed.