Jean drew the chair to the side of the bed and sat down.
"Have you any children?" the woman asked abruptly.
"No. I have no children."
"Do you want them?"
For some reason it was impossible to resent this woman's questioning. She did it so calmly, so deliberately, as if each question were the end of a long line of thought, important to her. Jean felt herself grow warm and uncomfortable.
"I don't—think very much about it."
There was another long pause, in which Jean listened to the wind and to some one moving in the room above. Suddenly a child's voice broke out in angry protest: "I won't!—I won't!" There was a mild scuffle, a door slammed, then silence. The woman continued to listen for a moment. She turned back again to Jean.
"I did," she said, in her odd way of continuing her own line of thought. "I wanted a child. That's him we just heard. Mamie don't mean to be mean but she ain't any brighter than she has to be and she don't understand. That's why I wrote to Dr. MacLean. I don't know whether you'll understand, seein' you never wanted one, but I'll have to tell you, since you was the one she sent and mebbe there won't be time to send another. I ain't always as strong as I am to-day, and there won't be many more days, weak or strong."
"You mustn't talk like that. You can't——"
The woman turned her dark eyes to Jean and a faint smile touched them.