"I know very little about the child I adopted," she said. "The poor waif was deserted, and as to the wrench now, why, life has taught me, also, George, to take what joy one can and be willing to pay for it. We cannot afford to let a great blessing slip because we may have to do without it bye and bye."
"But—inheritance, Doris! You, of all women, to undervalue that! It was a bit risky, but of course while children are so young——" Thornton paused and Doris broke in.
"Inheritance is such a tricky thing," she said, looking out into the flower-filled garden, "it is such a clever masquerader. Often it is like those insects that take upon themselves the colour of the leaf upon which they cling. It isn't what it seems, and when one really knows—why, one can hardly be just, because of the injustice of inheritance."
"Queer reasoning," muttered Thornton. "Why, that—kid's father might be—— well, anything!" Why he said "father" would be hard to tell.
"Exactly!" agreed Doris. "But when I did not know, I could be fair and unhampered. It has paid—the child is adorable."
"Shows no—no—evil tendencies?" Thornton grew more and more restive.
"On the contrary—only divine ones."
"We're all lucky." The man sighed, then spoke hurriedly: "I'd like to see my little girl. She is here—of course?"
"Oh! yes. I have never been separated from her. I suppose—you mean to——" Doris paused.
"I mean to relieve you, Doris, and assume my responsibility—now that I dare."