But as it was--a little shamed thing to be hidden away--to be saved from the worst of fates for any girl--with nothing in her hand to help her--how would it be wisest to face her, how could one best be a comfort and a help?
How the sensible and tender creature gave her heart and brain to her reflections! How she balanced one chance and one emotion against another! Her conclusion was, as Coombe had known it would be, drawn from the experience of practical wisdom and an affection as deep as the experience was broad.
"She won't be afraid of Dowie," she thought, "if it's just Dowie that looks at her exactly as she always did.

In her little soul she may be frightened to death but if it's only Dowie she sees--not asking questions or looking curious and unnatural, she'll get over it and know she's got something to hold on to.

What she needs is something she can hold on to--something that won't tremble when she does--and that looks at her in the way she was used to when she was happy and safe.

What I must do with her is what I must do with the others--just look and talk and act as Dowie always did, however hard it is.

Perhaps when we get away to the quiet place we're going to hide in, she may begin to want to talk to me.