Barely able to earn bread to keep life
within her poor body, her clothing grew shabby, her form thin and worn;
and these very evidences of her goodness of character worked to
accomplish her ruin. But she was a good girl through it all, a good girl
with a bad reputation.
She was cowering at the foot of the monument, her face buried in her
hands, when the Doctor touched her on the shoulder. She started and
turned up to him the saddest face the old physician had ever seen.
"What's the matter, my girl?" he said as kindly as he could.
She shook her head and buried her face in her hands again.
"Please go away and let me alone."
"Come, come," said the Doctor laying his hand on her shoulder again.
"This won't do; you must tell me what's wrong. You can't stay out here
on the street at this time of the night."
At his tone she raised her head again. "This time of the night! What
difference does it make to anyone whether I am on the street or not?"
"It makes a big difference to you, my girl," the Doctor answered. "You
should be home and in bed."
God! What a laugh she gave!
"Home! In bed!" She laughed again.
"Stop that!" said the physician sharply, for he saw that just a touch
more, and she would be over the line. "Stand up here and tell me what's
the matter; are you sick?"
She rose to her feet with his help.
"No sir."
"Well, what have you been doing?"
"Nothing, Doctor. I--I was just walking around."
"Why don't you go back to the Hotel? You are working there, are you not?"
At this she wrung her hands and looked about in a dazed way, but answered
nothing.
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