While this brief interview was in progress, Nurse Bray sat with the baby on her lap. She had taken the soft little hands into her own; and evil and cruel though she was, an impulse of tenderness flowed into her heart from the angels who were present with the innocent child. It grew lovely in her eyes. Its helplessness stirred in her a latent instinct of protection. “No no, it must not be,” she was saying to herself, when the door opened and Mrs. Dinneford came back.
Mrs. Bray did not lift her head, but sat looking down at the baby and toying with its hands.
“Pshaw!” ejaculated Mrs. Dinneford, in angry disgust, as she noticed this manifestation of interest. “Bundle the thing up and throw into that basket. Is the woman down stairs?”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Bray as she slowly drew a light blanket over the baby.
“Very well. Put it in the basket, and let her take it away.”
“She is not a good woman,” said the nurse, whose heart was failing her at the last moment.
“She may be the devil for all I care,” returned Mrs. Dinneford.
Mrs. Bray did as she was ordered, but with an evident reluctance that irritated Mrs. Dinneford.
“Go now and bring up the woman,” she said, sharply.
The woman was brought. She was past the prime of life, and had an evil face. You read in it the record of bad passions indulged and the signs of a cruel nature. She was poorly clad, and her garments unclean.
“You will take this child?” said Mrs. Dinneford abruptly, as the woman came into her presence.
“I have agreed to do so,” she replied, looking toward Mrs. Bray.
“She is to have fifty dollars,” said the nurse.
“And that is to be the last of it!” Mrs. Dinneford's face was pale, and she spoke in a hard, husky voice.
Opening her purse, she took from it a small roll of bills, and as she held out the money said, slowly and with a hard emphasis,
“You understand the terms. I do not know you--not even your name. I don't wish to know you. For this consideration you take the child away. That is the end of it between you and me. The child is your own as much as if he were born to you, and you can do with him as you please. And now go.” Mrs. Dinneford waved her hand.
“He has no name!” Mrs. Dinneford stamped her foot in angry impatience.