Stargarde blushed a little. Just for one instant she was tempted by a natural disinclination not to discuss her love affairs with such an uncongenial being as the one before her. Then she remembered her invariable maxim, “No prevarication. Perfect frankness in my dealings with my fellow-men,” and said gently: “I am not willing to go, Zeb, I shall stay here.”
“Not if he coaxes yer?” said the child eagerly.
“No, Zeb.”
The little renegade scrubbed vigorously at her face without making reply. Then polishing her hands with a towel she approached Stargarde. “Will yer kiss me now?” she said humbly.
“Yes, darling,” and the beautiful woman took the dirty child to her breast in a warm embrace.
The child’s clothes were not clean. In fact months had passed over her head since her dress had made acquaintance with the wash tub. “Zeb,” said Stargarde hesitatingly, “I have a little cotton frock here”—the child frowned angrily and regarded her with a glance as proud as Lucifer’s. “It is just like mine,” went on Stargarde. “Look, Zeb.”
She took a small garment from a closet and showed the child the coquettish frills adorning the skirt and neck. “Seeing it’s you,” said the child graciously, “I’ll take it. But we’s no beggars, mind that! Mam and pap’ll kill me, likely, but I don’t care,” and with a fine assumption of indifference she pulled off her ragged gown, kicked it contemptuously aside, and allowed Stargarde to slip over her head the new and pretty dress which tortures would not have forced her to don, if it had not been for the fortunate occurrence that it was made from a similar piece of material to that clothing the woman she so passionately admired.
“I will speak to your mother about it,” said Stargarde reassuringly, as she buttoned her visitor up. “I don’t think she will mind.” Zeb thrust a hand into hers without speaking and walked silently out to Dr. Camperdown with her. When Stargarde introduced her to him she put out her tongue, stuck up her shoulder at him, and half turning her back drew up a little footstool to the grate, to which she sat so close that Stargarde was in momentary fear lest she should catch fire.
“Now, what shall we have for tea?” said Stargarde cheerily. “Let every one choose what he would like. What are you for, Brian?”
“Anything you choose to give me,” he said agreeably, “provided there is enough of it. I’m as hungry as a hunter this evening. Good breakfast, but patients were dogging me all lunch time, and I haven’t broken my fast yet.”