“Well?” Sonia questioned, breaking the silence abruptly.
Olga drew a long weary breath. “I—I can’t think, Sonia,” she said. “You have taken me so by surprise. I don’t know what to say.”
“I suppose you’re not going to turn us into the street to-night—the baby and me?”
“Of course not,” Olga answered, and added, “Is the baby sick?”
Sonia’s eyes rested for a moment on the small pallid face, but there was no softening in them when she looked up again. “She’s never been well. The first one died—the boy. This one cried day and night for weeks after she came. Dick couldn’t stand it, and no wonder. That’s the reason he cleared out—one reason.”
“His own child!” cried Olga indignantly, and as she looked at the pitiful white face her heart warmed towards the little creature, She held out her hands. “Let me take her.”
Sonia promptly transferred the baby to her sister’s arms, and rising, crossed to the small sleeping-room.
“You’re pretty well fixed here, with two rooms,” she remarked.
“It’s hardly more than one—the bedroom is so small.”
“What do you do for a living?” Sonia demanded.