"I have no desire to learn her name. I was thinking whether she is the kind of woman to feel the loss of her child."
The doctor, as yet inexperienced in the feminine nature, marvelled at this sympathy with the mother whose child the lady was buying.
"Well," he said, "she is a young woman—of respectable character, I believe; good looking; in her speech something of a cockney, if I understand that dialect."
"The more respectable she is, the more she will feel the loss of her child."
"Yes; but there is another consideration. This poor creature has a husband who has deserted her."
"Then her child should console her."
"Her husband is a comedian—actor—singing fellow,—a chap who asks for nothing but enjoyment. As for wife and children, they may look out for themselves. When I saw him, I read desertion in his face; in his wife's face, it was easy to read neglect."
"Poor creature!"
"Now he's gone—deserted her. Nothing will do but she must go in search of him. Partly for money to help her along, partly because the workhouse is her only refuge, she sells her baby."
The lady was silent for a while, then she sighed. "Poor creature! There are, then, people in the world as unhappy as I myself?"