Lindsay struck the proffered hand down.
"She 's the way you left her, wi' this difference: There 's a bastard o' yours on her arm this four months. And do you know what I 'm going to do to you for that, Aleck Robertson? I 'm going to kill you!"
"Wi' a baby!"
"Wi' a baby o' yours!"
"Wi' a baby o' mine!" Robertson was plainly dazed.
"You were no' expecting that, maybe?"
"No! I was no' expecting that." The big man tried to pull his faculties together.
"And where is she now? She 's no' gone away, is she?"
"No! She 's no' gone away. And she 's not where she might be, for all you did—in the poor-house! Nor tramping the streets, selling matches! No! She 's at home. In her father's house—"
"At home, you say?"