She served him tea in the parlor of her modest home. After a routine round of chit-chat designed to put her at ease, Truggles approached the point.
"As you may know, Mrs. Allison, I am president of our Social Standards Protective League," he said, fixing his deep blue eyes on her face.
"I've heard of it, Mr. Truggles," she said in a low voice. "My duties at home keep me too busy to belong to any organizations, though."
As if to emphasize her point, she put her arm around the shoulders of her young son. The boy sat quietly beside her, watching Truggles like a young animal. Truggles figured he must be about five years old—certainly he would be below school age, for school was in session—but he was big for his age. There was something disturbing about his intent gaze.
"I'm not here in the interest of your joining the League, Mrs. Allison, though we'd be glad to have you," said Truggles. "I came to ask you for some confidential information about the shameful way your former husband mistreated you."
Her eyes opened wide.
"Why, Blan never mistreated me!" she exclaimed. "Whoever told you such a thing? I loved Blan, and he loved me. I still love him."
"If he loved you, why did he leave you?" demanded Truggles triumphantly.
"I think you're asking questions about something that isn't any of your business, Mr. Truggles," said Phyllis Allison, her eyes flashing ominously. "Blan Forsythe is ... different. We agreed to separate because it appeared I could give him no children. We were wrong, but it was too late, then."
"So he turned to polygamy through a mad desire to produce children," murmured Truggles happily. "You say you were wrong? I thought the boy was your only child."