The result was instantaneous. The old gentleman touched a bell, drew his
spectacles down on to his nose, and said in his icy tones:
"Don't take illegitimate children if we can help it."
It was several days before I recovered from the deep humiliation of this
experience. Then (the exactions of the Olivers quickening my memory and
at the same time deadening my pride) I remembered something which I had
heard the old actress say during my time at the boarding-house about a
hospital in Bloomsbury for unfortunate children--how the good man who
founded it had been so firm in his determination that no poor mother in
her sorrow should be put to further shame about her innocent child that
he had hung out a basket at the gate at night in which she could lay her
little one, if she liked, and then ring a bell and hide herself away.
It wasn't easy to reconcile oneself to such philanthropy, but after a
sleepless night, and with rather a sickening pang of mingled hope and
fear, I set off for this hospital.
It was a fine Sunday morning.
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