“Never mind!” she went on. “I’ve got a thing here that ought to run to a column, if you pad it a little. We’ll fix it up, and you can turn it in to-morrow. Now, my dear, do tell me!”
“I’ve lost,” said Judith.
“I knew it!” cried Mrs. Fremby. “I felt it all along! What an outrage!”
It was a question here of an orphan child. The child’s mother had been Judith’s sister, and upon the sister’s decease Judith had put in a claim for the custody of the infant. According to all the laws of justice and humanity—as interpreted by Mrs. Fremby—Judith should have got the infant, but another woman, a sister of the mere father, had likewise put in a claim; and as this woman had a very wealthy husband, and a home, and other things which surrogates deem advantageous for infants, and Judith had none of these, the other claimant had triumphed.
“It’s an outrage!” Mrs. Fremby repeated. “You’ll fight it, of course?”
Judith shed a few melancholy tears.
“I don’t know, Evelyn,” she said.
“Don’t know! You must!”
“It’s so expensive, Evelyn. Even if I got the poor little thing, I don’t know what I could do with her. I only made twelve dollars last week.”
Mrs. Fremby recognized in her friend a mood which exasperated her—a large, vague despair and resignation.