A sudden suspicion crossed him; he seized hold of her, and looking closely in her face, said,—
"Blanche, it strikes me you have some motive for pleading in this way in favour of children. I never heard you so eloquent before. Let me know the worst. Are you——?"
She hid her blushing face in his bosom, and pressed him to her convulsively.
"The devil!" was his brutal exclamation.
A vision of a large family and destitution stood before him, and his heart sank at the prospect.
"Are you not glad?" she asked him gently, not raising her face from its resting-place.
"Glad!" he exclaimed with vehemence, "glad at the prospect of bringing children to share our poverty? Glad, when I know not how we are to exist ourselves, to learn that fresh burdens are come upon us? This is a nice place to rear a child in! It will have every comfort; we shall be so comfortable: such a nursery! And when I come home harassed from my day's work, wanting repose and quiet, a squalling baby will be so pleasant! Glad; yes, yes, there's a great deal to be glad about!"
She crept from him, and sank upon a chair.
"How the child is to be provided for, God only knows. We can't stop here. They would not keep us with the nuisance of a child in the house. We must seek some miserable lodging of our own, and there live squalidly. And to think of your being rejoiced at such an event: that is so like women!"
Her little heart was breaking, and half stifled sobs burst from her as he continued. It was indeed a fearful trial for the young mother! She had hoped to see him as proud and happy as herself; she had hoped that the child would be a fresh link between them—a link which, by making their poor home more cheerful to him, would have kept him oftener with her. And this was his answer!