"No—not now. For God's sake don't plead with me; I can't stand that."
"Why, sir?"
But Connie, as she looked up, saw an expression about that mouth and that jaw which frightened her, and frightened her so badly that all the agony she had undergone in Mammy Warren's house seemed as nothing in comparison. The next minute, however, the cruel look had departed. Simeon Stylites drew a chair forward, dropped into it, bent low, and looked into Connie's eyes.
"Allow me," he said; and he put his hand very gently under her chin, and raised her little face and looked at it.
"Who's your father?" he asked.
"Peter Harris."
"Trade?"
"Blacksmith, sir."
"Where do you live?"
"Adam Street, sir; and——"