"And you?" she demanded, turning to Mr. Jarvis.
"Yes," he admitted. "It is a part of our imperfect laws. The whole thing should have been revised long ago. It is a disgrace to the District."
"Then why does it remain upon your statute books?" she cried, furiously. "Is law only for the strong? Do we—the weak—the ones who need it most—do we find in it only something to mock us when we cry to it?"
Her timidity was all gone. She flung her questions at them tumultuously, as children stand and beat impotently upon a door that will not open to them. "I tell you it is a wicked law! a wicked, wicked law! and they do wickedly who let it stand!... A mother have no right to her unborn child? Shame! shame! upon the men who frame such laws! They are not born of women but of beasts!"
"Margaret," Judge Kirtley said, sternly, "you must control yourself. This is no place for a discussion of our laws, however imperfect they are."
"I beg your pardon," she answered with a flush and a return to her usual manner. "In this insult to womanhood and motherhood I forgot myself. I shall not do so again. Only tell me that I need not fear—that my baby is safe with me!"
As she spoke she turned full upon Richard De Jarnette though she did not call his name.
He looked at her impassively.
"Mr. De Jarnette," said Mr. Jarvis, nervously, folding up his papers and placing them in his satchel, "I think you can do more to add to your sister-in-law's peace of mind than anybody else can. Will you not tell her plainly your intentions in the matter?"
"I will," said Richard De Jarnette, a sudden fire leaping to his eyes, which were upon Margaret. Then he turned to the attorney.