“He has tried, he has tried, he is trying,” cried Lydia, beating her hands on the table. “Think! Of all the people I know, he is the only one who is even trying. That was all I wanted myself. That is all I dare ask for my children—a chance to try.”
“To try what?” asked the doctor challengingly.
“To try not to have life make them worse instead of better. That’s not much to ask—but nobody I know, but one only has—”
“Simplicity and right living don’t come from camping out in a shed,” said the doctor angrily. “Externals are nothing. If the heart is right and simple—”
“If the heart is right and simple, nothing else matters. That is what I say,” answered Lydia.
Dr. Melton gave a gesture of cutting the question short. “Well, of course it’s quite impossible! Rankin can’t possibly have any claim on your children in the event of your death. Think of all your family, who would be—”
“I think of them,” said Lydia with an accent so strange that the doctor was halted. “Oh, I have thought of them!” she said again. She put her hands over her eyes. “Could I not make a will, and appoint as guardian—” she began to ask.
Dr. Melton cut her short with a sound like a laugh, although his face was savage. “Did you never hear of wills being contested? How long do you suppose a will you make under the present circumstances would stand against an attack on it by your family and the Hollisters, with their money and influence!”
“Oh! Oh!” moaned Lydia, “and I shall not be here to—”
Rankin stirred throughout all his great height and broke his silence. He said to Lydia: “There is some way—there must be some way. I will find it.”