“Oh! do tell it,” cried Emma earnestly; “he’s just been telling it to me, and it is so sad and interesting.”
“Come, let’s hear about it, lad,” said Mr Tippet.
Thus encouraged, Willie related his adventure with the clown’s family, and told his tale with such genuine feeling, that Miss Tippet, Loo, and Emma found their eyes moist when he had concluded.
There was a good deal of comment upon this subject, and Miss Deemas animadverted very strongly upon actors in general and clowns in particular. As to ballet-girls, she could not find words to express her contempt for them; but in reference to this Miss Tippet ventured to rebuke her friend, and to say that although she could not and would not defend the position of these unfortunates, yet she felt that they were very much to be pitied, seeing that they were in many cases trained to their peculiarly indelicate life by their parents, and had been taught to regard ballet-dancing as quite a proper and legitimate what’s-its-name. No doubt this was only a palliation of the life they led, but she thought that if anyone was to be severely blamed in the matter it was the people who went to witness and encourage such wicked displays.
Miss Deemas dissented generally from all her friend’s observations, and, wishing to change the subject, asked Loo if her father was coming to fetch her home.
“No,” said Loo; “dear papa is not well to-night, but he is to send the carriage for me. Oh, I wish,” she continued, reverting to the previous subject, “I wish I could do something for these poor people. I’m so very, very sorry for the fairy.”
“So you can, if you choose,” said Miss Deemas sharply.
“No, indeed I cannot,” replied Loo in an earnest voice; “I’m too ill and weak now to be of any use to anyone. Once I was useful to dear papa, but ever since the fire I have not been of use to anybody; only a hindrance to them. Since I have been ill I have thought much more about what I read in the Bible, and I’ve had a great desire to do good in some way or other, but how can I—so weak and helpless?”
Loo almost sobbed, for her sympathies had been awakened by Willie, and a chord had been touched which had been vibrating in her breast for some weeks past.
“Your father is rich, is he not?” asked the Eagle.