“I do put you aside,” he said sternly. “It’s Maisie’s child, and she’s going to have it. I wish to Heaven she’d take me, too!”
Maisie had not stirred or spoken a word. She got up now and went out of the room.
They looked after her with amazement. Mrs. Tracy came close to her son.
“Oh, try to realize!” she whispered. “It’s your child, too. It’s a Tracy. You can’t abandon your own child to that ignorant, common girl!”
“Common!” said he. “I’ve never seen one like her!”
“She’s—” Mrs. Tracy began.
Maisie reëntered with the baby in her arms. It was asleep, lying limp and flushed against her frail shoulder. Over its dark, rough head, her eyes, misty with tears, met Mrs. Tracy’s.
“I know it’s my baby,” she said in an unsteady voice. “My very own! It’s wrong of any one to take her away from me, for one minute; but I know you love her. I wanted to say—” Maisie’s voice broke entirely. “I couldn’t be—cruel,” she sobbed; “not now when I have her safe. I’ll go to-morrow—I will indeed—to sign a paper—”
“What paper?” Lester demanded.
He came up beside her and put his arm about her. She looked up into his face with her old trust and candor.