“But, Donald, surely you realize what it would mean for her, and for your child?”
“Quite as well as you do. I’m sorry, but I can’t do it. We have to make sacrifices now, for the sake of the future.” He turned to his desk, and began to look over some papers which he drew from his pocket.
“But surely you realize—you can’t mean—” stammered Mrs. Pope feebly, her face reddening angrily.
“I shouldn’t say anything more about it, mother, if I were you,” remarked Edith.
Mrs. Pope sank back into her chair, with an air of deep resignation. “Very well,” she said, as though allowing the whole matter to pass from her hands into those of Divine Providence. “I’ve tried to do my duty. If anything happens to Bobbie, remember that, Donald.” It was quite clear that whatever might happen she would regard as solely her son-in-law’s fault.
“I shall,” remarked Donald, going on with his reading.
There was an ominous silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock upon the mantel. It was interrupted by the sudden ringing of the door-bell. Donald rose and went over to the door. The others heard him talking with someone outside. Presently he turned, with a card in his hand. “The boy says there is a gentleman downstairs to see you, Edith,” he said to his wife.
Edith rose in surprise. “To see me?” she asked. “Who is it?”
Her husband looked at the card. “Mr. Ogden Brennan, the card says. Do you know him?”
“No, I never heard the name before.” She came over to Donald and, taking the card, looked at it curiously. “Perhaps we had better ask him to come up.”