“It is possible,” said Mrs. Bird drily; “I have heard of such things.”
“Oh no, he is not bad enough for that; in fact, he is very good and kind. He knew that I was coming away, and gave me five-and-twenty pounds to start on, and he told me himself that he was left my trustee by my father, who is dead, but whose name he was bound not to reveal.”
“Indeed,” answered Mrs. Bird, pursing up her lips. “And now I must go and see about the dinner. As it happens, I do work for some of the big shops; and I will inquire if there is any situation vacant that might suit you. Look: Jim wants you to turn your head a little, so that he can see your nose. Is he not making a beautiful likeness?” And, nodding affectionately at her husband, she left the room.
Once outside the door, Mrs. Bird stood still and reflected. “There is a mystery about that girl,” she thought, “and she has not told me all her story: she has left out the love affair—I could see it in her face. Now, if I were wise, I should send her about her business without more words; but, somehow, I cannot find the heart to do it. I suppose it is because she is so beautiful, and seems so sad and friendless; and after all it is one’s duty to help those who are placed thus—yes, even if they have not been quite respectable, though of course I have no right to suppose that she has not. No, I cannot turn her away. To do so might be to bring her to ruin, and that would be a dreadful thing to have upon one’s mind. But I do not think much of that guardian of hers, Mr. Levinger she called him, who can send such a lovely girl to take her chance in London without providing her with a proper home. It looks almost as if he wished to be rid of her: altogether it is a very strange story. I must say that it interests me; but then curiosity always was one of my sins, and I have not conquered it yet.” And again shaking her head, this time at the thought of her own depravity, Mrs. Bird made her way to the kitchen.
After dinner was over she announced to Joan that they were all going out for a walk in the Park, and asked her if she would like to accompany them. Joan, of course, was delighted, for already she began to feel a want of the fresh air to which she was accustomed; but as she accepted she looked inquiringly at Mr. Bird.
“Ah, my dear,” said his wife, “you are wondering how he can come out walking when his legs are crippled. Well, presently you shall see. Now go and put on your hat.”
By the time that Joan was ready she found that a long wheel-chair, which she had noticed standing in the passage, had been run into the sitting-room, and into this chair Mr. Bird shifted himself with marvellous agility by the help of his muscular arms, nodding and smiling at Joan the while.
“How on earth will they get it down the steps?” she wondered. Soon the mystery was solved, for, the front door having been opened, Sally appeared with three grooved boards which reached from the lintel to the pavement. The three wheels of the chair having been set in the grooves, Mr. Bird grasped the iron railings on either side of the steps, and, smiling triumphantly, launched himself with much dignity into the street.
“There, my dear!” said Mrs. Bird, while Sally replaced the boards in the passage and shut the door, “necessity is the mother of invention. Quite clever, isn’t it? But we have other contrivances that are even cleverer.”
Then they started, Mr. Bird guiding himself, while Sally and Mrs. Bird who was arrayed in a prim little bonnet and mantle, pushed behind. Joan offered to assist, but was not allowed this honour because of her inexperience of the streets, at any rate until they reached the Park. So she walked by the side of the chair, wondering at the shops and the noise and bustle of the Edgware Road.