She twined her arms about the old man’s neck and drew his cheek to hers and pressed hers against it.
“I’m just hungry for a little child,” she said. “I long to hear little footsteps about the house, to know the clinging feel of little hands. I’m just a sackful of motherhood tied down and repressed. I feel that I can’t go on like this much longer.”
“I wish you had a dozen babies of your own,” he said wistfully.
“My dear!” She was laughing now, though the tears shone behind the laughter. “Half that number would serve.”
“I still don’t like the idea of you adopting this child,” Mr Graynor said after a pause. “He comes of bad stock, Prue.”
“Not bad stock,” she contradicted. “I’ve known his mother all my life. She made a mistake. That was largely due to environment: many girls in her position would have done the same. And William... we won’t judge William. We don’t know—everything, do we? I am a great believer in training. I know the faults I have to watch for. I shall teach my child to be honest and generous and self-controlled.”
He smiled at her a little sadly. Youth is so hopeful and so sanguine. But experience had proved to him that there is something which strikes deeper than training, something which no training can overcome—the nature which lies at the root of every human being.