“Is it possible that you could be so cruel?” she asked slowly. “Is it possible that you could deprive that innocent child of his mother’s love?”
“It is you who are depriving him of it—not I.”
“Have you thought what it will mean, if you do this thing? Don’t you know that it will break his heart? Night after night he will cry for me—for his mother—and you cannot comfort him, and all through the long days he will want me, and ask for me, and will not understand. You talk about giving him truth, and right, and honor. What are those things to him, compared to a mother’s love? You shall not come between me and my boy—you shall not—you shall not!” She concluded with a burst of hysterical sobbing, then again started toward the bedroom. “Open that door!” she demanded. “Open it, I say! I want my boy!”
Donald did not move. “No,” he said quietly. “Bobbie stays here with me.”
“You cannot take him from me. The law will not allow you.” Her face blazed with angry defiance.
“I am not taking him from you. Your home is here. It is the best that I can provide. If you are not satisfied with it—if you leave it—you leave me and your child as well. No law can give him back to you.”
She had grown furiously angry by this time. “Do you think you can force me to do as you wish through my love for my child?” she cried.
“I am not trying to force you to do anything,” he replied. “You came here. I did not ask you to come. Whether you stay or not depends entirely upon yourself. The decision is yours.”
She turned quickly to the chair, and picked up her coat and purse.