"Miss Vogdes does not approve their religious teaching, William. You
see," turning to her, "how they need a real motherly care. _You_ could
give it to them."

But Kitty, who perhaps did "want stamina," and who was more of a child
than any before her, made no answer. Vice and disease faced her as
never before: those hundreds of hungry eyes fenced her in.

"Are you sick?" said Mr. Muller anxiously, seeing her face. "It is
the smell of the soup, perhaps. Come out of this. Let me pass, Maria.
You forget how foolishly tender her life has been: she never probably
looked at crime before. Come out to the fresh air."

"You'd better stay," said Maria coolly, aside. "These children will
plead your cause with such a girl as that better than you can do or
have done, I take it. Now, my dear," putting Kitty's hand between her
own, "this is my brother's work, in which he wishes you to join him.
Put it to yourself whether it is not your duty. You're very young;
you've dreamed a good deal, most likely: this wakening to the fact
that there is work in the world besides marrying and nursing babies
revolts and shocks most young girls. Yet here it is." Her voice was
very gentle, and sincere in every cadence, the words true: there lay
the terrible grinding power of them. "Talk over your future life with
William, my dear. There is the matron. I must go and see about that
charge for pepper she made last month. Pepper for these children's
stomachs, indeed!"

Mr. Muller drew Catharine's hand in his arm. "I did not mean to
bring you here to-day," he said, nervously mopping his face with his