Frances rose.
“Minnie,” she said, “listen to me!”
She looked like the goddess Athene, so handsome, so stern, so just.
“You must have some sort of conscience—some standard—something I can appeal to.... You’ve wronged me, you’ve wronged Mr. Petersen, in the cruelest way. You’ve brought shame and suffering on innocent people. You’ve thought only of yourself and your own desires, and had no mercy on anyone who stood in your way. And now you want to do something still worse. Just for your own selfish gratification, you want to take those poor little children away from people who are able and willing to do everything for them—honourable and decent people——”
“I suppose you mean yourself,” said Minnie, “I suppose you and Chris intended to start housekeeping with my children. Well, you can’t!”
“If you love them, Minnie, you can’t drag them into poverty and——”
“Oh, love, love, love!” cried Minnie impatiently. “What do you know about loving, anyway? When I love people, I fight for them. I’d die for them.... Or I’d murder. I’d do anything. I wouldn’t stop to reason and plan like you do. You couldn’t keep my babies away from me if you had an army of soldiers to help you.”
And she pushed by her sister and went upstairs.
They heard a sudden wild little shout.
“Oh, Mummy!” from Sandra. Then a number of sounds, Minnie walking about, opening bureau drawers, the creak of a rocking chair.