The crouching thing did not know. The drawer of the dressing-table had been left unlocked. She had been tempted. It was the first time she had stole anything. She would never do it again. And then she cried again, “Don't let them send me to prison!”
“Julia, can't you prevent her making such a noise?” said Sir Oliver.
The bulky policeman, desiring to carry out Sir Oliver's wishes, came forward and laid his hand on the girl's shoulder. She screamed. Stella touched him on the arm, and he stood up straight. Then she opened the door.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Withers, for your trouble; but we are not going to have this girl put in prison.”
The kitchen-maid lay a huddled, sobbing mass on the floor.
“You 're doing a very foolish thing, Stella,” said Sir Oliver.
“You had much better let your uncle and me deal with this,” said Lady Blount.
“My dears,” said Stella, very white, very dispassionate, cold steel from head to foot, “if you put this girl in prison, I shall go mad. All the things you have taught me would have no meaning. We say every day, 'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us.' ”
“But, my darling child, that's quite different,” said Sir Oliver. “That 's a form of words referring to spiritual things. This is practical life.”
“Is that true, Auntie?”