A look of anger gleams in Mamma’s eyes, but she suppresses her wrath and answers:
“No; she’s not our daughter, but she’s a fine trouble to us, just the same. Nance, let go the lady, and git out of the way.”
With a whine of fear, the girl drops the arm of the Sister, and turns away. But her new-found friend restrains her, and with a hand resting upon her arm, again addresses Mamma:
“They tell me that this girl’s mind has been destroyed by liquor, and that still you permit her to drink. This cannot be overlooked. She is not your child, you say; may I not take her to our hospital?”
These are charitable words, but they bring Papa Francoise suddenly to his feet, and cause Mamma’s true nature to assert itself.
Springing forward with a cry of rage, she seizes the arm of the girl, Nance, drags her from the Sister’s side, and pushes her toward the nearest pallet with such violence that the reeling girl falls to the floor, where she lies trembling with fear and whimpering piteously.
“This comes of letting you wander around, eh?” hisses Mamma, with a fierce glance at the prostrate girl. Then turning to the Sister of Mercy, she cries: “That gal is my charge, and I’m able to take care of her. Your hospital prayers wouldn’t do her any good.”
As she speaks, Papa moves stealthily forward and touches her elbow.
“Hold your tongue, you old fool,” he whispers sharply.
Then to the Sister he says, with fawning obsequiousness: