“Yes, yes!” he cried, and actually believed that she had. The pathos of the anxious little figure overwhelmed him.
“Minnie!” he cried. “Wait! Just a minute!”
She turned again.
“If—your—he has gone in to the army—what will you have to live on?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “I’ll get on somehow.”
“No! ... That can’t be.... For old times’ sake—let me help you—and the children. An allowance—a settlement of some sort....”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Thank you, Chris dear,” she said, simply.
“If Frances will take the baby,” he suggested, “I’d like to speak to you in my office just a moment.”
So Frances sat in the dining-room, with the baby in her arms for the last time, holding Sandra’s little hand, forgotten and deserted, despoiled now of everything, while in the study Mr. Petersen wrote a generous cheque for Minnie.