"I hear it is Jennie Appleton, the carpenter's daughter at Kingsford—very respectable people. How did she get here?"
"Usual thing. Got into trouble at her situation in London; the man promised to marry her, but he kept putting it off, and then one day he disappeared, and wrote to her from Glasgow saying that he was a married man. She came back home, but her father drove her out with blows and curses, and she walked here from Kingsford—goodness knows how. It is a sad case, and the relieving officer tells me she will probably not be able to get any affiliation order enforced, as the man has evaded liability by going to Scotland."
"Abominable!" said the doctor; then he went towards the bedside of his patient, felt her pulse, glanced at the temperature chart, and his face grew grave.
Taking the babe from the cradle, he laid it beside the mother: "You have a pretty little girl."
The eyelids flickered, and, as the Countess had spoken, so spoke the pauper: "God help her!"
"He will," said the doctor, who was a religious man.
"He didn't help me. He let me come to this, and I was born respectable. She is only a little come-by-chance maid."
"Cheer up, my lass! My wife will help you: she knows it has not been your fault."
The doctor gave a few directions, and then left, looking puzzled and worried. He was a good accoucheur, and hated to lose a case. What was the matter with the women that they seemed to have lost the will to live?
* * * * * *