“Spare your importunities, Dr. Turner,” she said, coolly, “for I assure you it is only a waste of breath and sentiment on your part.”
“Have you no love for your innocent babe?” he demanded, sternly.
“I have not dared—I will not allow myself to become attached to her,” was the low, constrained reply.
“Have you no pity, then, that you thrust her thus remorselessly from your sheltering care?”
“I should become an object far more pitiable if I should keep her with me,” returned the incomprehensible mother.
“I cannot understand it. Poor child! poor child!” sighed the sympathetic and perplexed physician.
“Doctor,” said his companion, with a sudden start, her face lighting with eagerness, “have you children of your own?”
“No, madame. I should consider myself blessed, indeed, if I had,” he sighed.
“Then will you adopt my daughter? I can assure you that there is not the slightest taint upon her parentage, and it is only the force of hard, obstinate circumstances that compels me to give her up. Your sympathies seem to have been enlisted for her. I am sure you are a good man, and I know that she would find a kind parent in you.”
The man flushed, and tears rose to his eyes at this appeal.