It was something that had made the
girl what she was. It explained all Tunis had been unable heretofore
to understand about Sheila Macklin. That timidity, that whispering
shyness, the shrinking from observation and from any attention, were
all explained. She had suffered persecution and punishment, harsh
and undeserved, that made her recoil from contact with other more
fortunate people. She felt herself outcast, ostracized, and was
unable to defend herself from malign fortune.
Gradually Tunis regained his usual self-control.
If Sheila had said anything following the bare statement that she
had spent two years in the St. Andrew's Reformatory for Women, he
had not comprehended it. Nor could he have told how long he sat
silent on the bench getting control of his voice and of his tongue.
When he did speak he said quite casually:
"And what kind of a place is that--er--school, Miss Macklin?"
"You can imagine. It harbors the weak-minded, the vicious, and the
unfortunate runaway girls, thieves' consorts, and women of the
streets. It is, I think, a little like hell, if there really is such
a place, Captain Latham."
The poignancy of expression in her voice and words made the man
tremble.
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