“Why?”
“Well, Dorothy,” said Tavia, with considerable gravity for her, “I guess because of the old and well-established reason.”
“What’s that?”
“Because a man will be kinder to a girl in trouble than other girls will—ordinarily, I mean.”
“Oh, Tavia!”
“Suppose it had been that Mrs. Halbridge who had really lost her bag,” Tavia went on to say. “If this girl had tried to return it, she and little Forty-seven both would have lost their jobs. Perhaps the police would have been called in. Do you see? I expect the big girl read kindness in Mr. Knapp’s face——”
Dorothy suddenly threw both arms about Tavia, and hugged her tightly. “Oh, you dear!” she cried; but she would not explain what she meant by this sudden burst of affection.
“Go on!” was her repeated demand.
“You are insatiable, my dear,” laughed Tavia. “Well, there isn’t much more ‘go on’ to it. The girl spoke to him when he passed her on the street and quickly told him all the story. Of course, he promised that nothing should happen to either of them. They are honest girls—the older one at least. And the temptation came so suddenly to little Forty-seven, whose wages are so pitiably small.”
“I know,” said Dorothy, gently. “You remember, we learned something about it when little Miette De Pleau told us how she worked as cash-girl here years ago.”