Maimie gazed at me with wonder.
“I do not suppose your stepfather meant to do anything more than to get you off his hands.”
The words escaped me without intention. I felt that they were wrong and unkind; wrong to be uttered, even if true, and certainly unkind to the child. Robert looked pained, and Maimie’s very lips whitened.
“It isn’t true,” she said. “Father does not want to get me off his hands. It is cruel to talk so. Father was always kind, and he never thought me a burden. I shall never never love you if you say such things, Aunt Marion,—never!”
Then, with a quick movement, her face was hidden, and she was sobbing violently.
It was rather an unpleasant moment. I was vexed, alike with myself and with Maimie. We were both at first silent, but soon my husband said—
“Maimie, that was wrong. You must not speak so.”
“Aunt Marion is cruel—cruel,” sobbed Maimie. “Poor father!”
“Hush! I cannot allow any more of this. You understand me? There is no unkindness in the question.”
Robert’s very quietness gave added force when he chose to speak with decision. Maimie lifted her head and looked at him with eyes that were half-defiant, half-beseeching.