"What would I have to pay for such rooms?" she asked.
"Oh, that would depend on locality, the conveniences, and so on; probably from eighteen to thirty dollars, although I am more familiar with Western than Eastern rentals, but I presume that's somewhere near it."
Sara, supposing him to mean this as the yearly rental, thought it moderate enough, and went on,—
"If it were not for baby, I could teach perhaps, or go out to sew; but
I'll have to wait till he's older for that."
"Would you take the baby?" he asked surprisedly.
"How could I leave him?" she returned.
"I thought perhaps—didn't your stepmother have any relatives?"
"A few; but they are not people with whom he would be happy," she said simply.
He looked at her with a puzzled face, made a move to speak, then stopped, ashamed to utter what was in his mind; ashamed to tell her that such devotion to a half-brother would hardly be expected of her, and that, freed from him, she might make a far easier start in life. Instead, he merely nodded his head understandingly, and kept silence, feeling that here was a nature not to be approached, except with care and reverence, first putting off the dust-soiled shoes of custom and worldly prudence, as unfit to enter there. After a little more talk he rose reluctantly.
"Our good Mrs. Updyke will be scandalized to see a light here after half-past nine," he remarked lightly. "Have you any word to send to Aunt Felicie?"