She drew herself up, grasping him at the shoulders.
"I.W., don't let him have our little Effie!"
"Nonsense!" he said, in some distaste for her voice choked with tears. "Cut out this woman foolishness now and come to bed. Is this something new you're springing on me? I got no patience with women who indulge themselves with nervous breakdowns. I never thought, Hattie, you had nothing like that in you."
Her voice was rising now in hysteria, slipping up frequently beyond her control.
"If you do, I can't stand it! I can't stand it, I.W.!"
He peered at her in the starlight that came down through the screened-in top of the sleeping-porch.
"Why?" he said, suddenly awake, and shortly.
"I worked for him nine years, I.W. I—I know him."
"How?"
"I know him, I.W. She's too good for him."