"Deplorable," grieved Sir William. "The crass materialism of it all. This is so sad. How old are you?"
"Twenty," said Dolly. "Twenty, with a child to keep, and his father's name up in gold lettering in that hall there. I say somebody ought to do something."
"I suppose now, Miss——" Fosdike baulked.
"Wainwright, Dolly Wainwright, though it ought to be Martlow."
"I suppose you loved Tim very dearly?"
"I liked him well enough. He was good-looking in his khaki."
"Liked him? I'm sure it was more than that."
"Oh, I dunno. Why?" asked the girl, who said she was the mother of Martlow's child.
"I am sure," said Fosdike gravely, "you would never do anything to bring a stain upon his memory."
Dolly proposed a bargain. "If I'm rightly done by," she said, "I'll do right by him."