To tell the truth, the red-haired woman’s description of Miss Mackellar had rather touched him.
“Will you write it down, please?” said she. “Just say that you will provide an annuity of one thousand dollars a year for Miss Mackellar, as from the 10th of April, 1925.”
She spoke in an efficient, businesslike tone, which somehow gave an air of plausibility to this incredible proposal, and he obeyed. He wrote on a page of his notebook, signed it, and put it on the table before him.
“And now,” she went on, “you will agree to settle upon Judith, for life, an income of—”
“Judith!” he cried. “This is too much!”
“Write this,” she said calmly, “and I shall at once take you to the child.”
“This is blackmail!” he cried. “This is extortion!”
“Mr. Henderson,” she replied sternly, “don’t you think, in your heart, that you ought to do this for Judith? Think, Mr. Henderson! Think of all that poor Judith—”
“Who the devil is Judith?” he roared. “I never heard of her!”
“Mr. Henderson!”