"Oh, botheration!" broke out the Doctor. "I beg your pardon; but as to that, we at the hospital could raise enough to keep her somewhere. But that's not what I want. That poor little chick in a great bare asylum! No; what I want for her is a home." And he looked narrowly at her, but she avoided his gaze.
"There's a children's home in Wainwright Street," she began, uneasily.
"No, no; she wants change of air."
"Oh, as to that, I am going out of town next week myself, and I can take her with me to the sea for a month if you like."
"By all means; it will do you both good." He pushed back his chair, and stared at a distant corner of the frescoed ceiling. "But what's to become of her when the month's up?" and he tried to speak innocently.
Mrs. Braithwaite faced round upon him indignantly. "I know what you mean; I understand you perfectly well," she cried. "You want me to adopt this child. How can you be so cruel? But I won't. Don't ask it. I never will do it."
"Why not?" asked the Doctor, unmoved.
"What! put another child in my own precious darling's place? I couldn't."
"I don't see the need of that. There are such things as sisters."
"And to see her about the house, and to hear her voice, just as I used to hear Daisy's! And perhaps there'd be something about her like my treasure. What color is her hair?—black?"