“A pretty beauty, I suppose,” he said, with cynical facility. Dr. Marjoy, on the contrary, leaned forward and appeared curiously in earnest.
“I call it a damned sin,” he observed, oblivious for the moment of his surroundings.
Gabriel stared.
“I remember that girl well. She is a splendid creature, and I wondered how such an old slut had been able to create such an anomaly. Poor little beggar, she had the airs of a convent child and a queen rolled into one. And to think of that young thing being penned up with a money-crusted sot and a beast of a servant!”
Gabriel’s chair tilted forward abruptly. He sat rigid and nearly bit through his cigar.
“This sounds Russian.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Poor little woman! I suppose she’s only a child. Her surroundings must mar her in the making.”
The doctor cogitated.
“I don’t know about that,” he said; “women are queer creatures. Rear one in a regular moral hothouse, and she’ll turn out a scarlet devil. Bring up another in a dirty back garden, and she’ll grow up a regular snow-white seraph. I only saw that girl once, but I’ll swear there’s real grit in her.”