“Don’t cry, dear. Mother wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”
“Minnie!” he protested.
“Oh, do stop!” she cried. “You don’t know anything about children. Don’t cry, sweetheart! You’re going to live right in the house with dear old Michael! Isn’t that nice!”
Mr. Petersen suspected at this time and at future times, that Minnie didn’t do all she might to make the child fond of him. In the course of time she dried her eyes, her mother, red-eyed and pale, straightened her hat, and the festive wedding party set off for the church.
It was evidently a terrible ordeal for Minnie. And for poor Mr. Petersen. He looked at her haggard and tormented face, and suffered from many new doubts. Was she marrying him for money, for a home for her child, for safety?
“She doesn’t love me,” he said to himself, and added, with deeper unhappiness, “She doesn’t even like me.”
They went out, man and wife, back to Mr. Petersen’s house, where Mrs. Hansen waited to salute them. She knew her days there were numbered, but the occasion called for a smile and a cheerful demeanour, and she complied.
III
“Shall we put it in the papers?” asked Mr. Petersen.
“No!” cried Minnie, “I hate that!”