"What! in this room?"

"Why not?"

"Nonsense! You don't mean to bring a child in here!"

"Again I say, why not? She will amuse and interest you."

"Well, of all the----"

"Don't excite yourself, Mr. Waldron. You know how bad that is for you."

"You are giving me some change of thought with a vengeance, doctor! Why should you bring a nasty brat to disturb me?"

[Sidenote: Some Amus.e.m.e.nt]

"I only offered you some amus.e.m.e.nt----"

"Amus.e.m.e.nt be hanged! You know I hate children."

"I know you say so."

Mr. Waldron growled.

"She is not so very small," went on the doctor--"about seven or eight, I think."

"Humph! Young enough to be a nuisance! A girl, eh?"

"Yes."

"Girls are not so bad as boys," he admitted.

"No, so some people think--good-morning." Dr. Norman went towards the door.

"A girl, you say?" growled old Mr. Waldron again.

"Yes; good-morning."

"I say, don't be in such a hurry!"

"I really cannot stay longer at present; goodbye."

Dr. Norman opened the door and stood within it. Old Mr. Waldron fidgeted in his chair, muttering--

"Horrid child! Hate children! Perfect nuisance!"

The doctor partly closed the door.

"I say, have you gone?" cried the old man, glancing round. "Dr. Norman,"

he called suddenly, "you can bring that brat in if it will be any pleasure to you, and if you find me dead in half an hour my death will lie at your door!"

The doctor at once accepted this grudging concession, and hastening to the carriage, brought Sophy back in his arms.

"What the----" called out old Mr. Waldron when he saw the child. "Is she ill?"

"Oh, no, only lame," replied the doctor, as he placed his burden in a chair opposite to the old man.

"Now, Sophy," he admonished, "you will be a pleasant companion to this gentleman until my return."

Sophy eyed her neighbour doubtfully.

"I'll try to," she replied, and so the doctor left them.

For some time this strangely a.s.sorted pair eyed each other in silence.

At length Sophy's gaze rested on the old man's foot where it lay in its large slipper on the stool before him.

"I see you are broken too," she said in a sympathetic voice. "It isn't really pleasant to be broken, is it, although we try to pretend we don't care, don't we?"

"No, it isn't exactly pleasant," replied Mr. Waldron, and a half-smile flickered over his face. "How did you get broken?"

"Somebody let me fall, father says, and afterwards I was only half-mended. It is horrid to be only a half-mended thing--but some people are so stupid, you know."

Mr. Waldron grunted.

"Does it hurt you to speak that you make that funny noise?" asked Sophy curiously.

"I'm an old man, and I do as I like."

"Oh! When I'm an old woman may I do as I like?"

"I suppose so," grudgingly.

"Then I shall be an awfully nice old woman; I shouldn't like to be cross and ugly. I don't like ugly people, and there are so many going about loose. I am always so glad I like my father's face."

"Why?"

"Because I have to see it every, every day. Have you anybody whose face you like?"

"No; I haven't."

"What a pity! I wonder if you like mine--or perhaps you would like father's. It does seem a shame you shouldn't have somebody."

"I do very well without."

"Oh no, I'm sure you don't," replied Sophy with deep concern. "You may do somehow, but you can't do well."

"What's your father like?" asked Mr. Waldron, amused in spite of himself.

"My father's like a song," returned Sophy, as though she had given the subject much reflection.