"I tell you they're rich—them Denbys be—rich as mud; and as for pokin' you off with a measly ten thousand dollars, they shan't—and you with a baby ter try ter bring up and edyercate. The idea of your standin' for a separation with only ten thousand—"
"Separation!" interrupted Helen indignantly, as soon as she could find her voice. "It isn't a separation. Why, we never thought of such a thing;—not for—for always, the way you mean it."
"What is it, then?"
"Why, it's just a—a playday," stammered Helen, still trying to cling to the remnant of her secret. "He said it was a playday—that I was to go off and have a good time with Baby."
"If it's just a playday, why didn't he give it to you ter take it tergether, then? Tell me that!"
"Why, he—he's going with his father."
"You bet he is," retorted Mrs. Cobb grimly. "And he's goin' ter keep with his father, too."
"What do you mean?" Helen's lips were very white.
Mrs. Cobb gave an impatient gesture.
"Look a-here, child, do you think I'm blind? Don't ye s'pose I know how you folks have been gettin' along tergether?—or, rather, not gettin' along tergether? Don't ye s'pose I know how he acts as if you wasn't the same breed o' cats with him?"