“What?” he asked, puzzled, thinking of possible leaks in roof or ceiling.
“This quarrel. With your sister-in-law.”
“I shouldn’t call it a ‘quarrel’” he said. “She insulted you, grossly. I don’t see how or why it should be ‘patched up.’”
“I’m willing to overlook it,” said Minnie. “Anyway, what does it matter what such a woman says? It won’t do for you to quarrel with your brother.”
“I don’t intend to. We’ll simply let the thing drop. But of course Julie can’t come here again, and we won’t enter her house.”
“It isn’t her house; it’s your brother’s——”
“I say! What are you driving at, Minnie? Haven’t you any pride?”
She began to cry.
“We’ll need a great deal of help from Horace,” she said, “and she’s quite capable of turning him against us. This baby’s going to be a terrible expense.”
He rebelled rather vigorously at first, but of course, in the end, succumbed. Minnie’s sole view of the expected baby as an anxiety and a crushing responsibility had begun to infect him. He too commenced to see it only as an expense that must be met—and met by Horace. She reiterated ceaselessly that it was their “duty” to this child to humiliate themselves, sacrifice all pride and independence. A curious doctrine, that the parents exist only to sustain their offspring, forever deprived of any original existence, any private aims, living only to convey physical nourishment.