"But this is the wrong decision," Allan answered steadily.
"It's made!"
"Not yet, it isn't, not to-night. We won't talk of it now, you're in no condition." Deborah's wide sensitive lips began to quiver suddenly:
"We will talk of it now, or never at all! I want it settled—done with! I've had enough—it's killing me!"
"No," was Allan's firm reply, "in a few days things will change. Edith's child will be out of danger, your other troubles will clear away!"
"But what of next winter, and the next? What of Edith's children? Can't you see what a load they are on my father? Can't you see he's ageing fast?"
"Suppose he dies," Baird answered. "It will leave them on your hands. You'll have these children, won't you, whether you marry or whether you don't! And so will I! I'm their guardian!"
"That won't be the same," she cried, "as having children of our own—"
"Look into my eyes."
"I'm looking—" Her own eyes were bright with tears.