In his own mind there was another thought, a hard, strange thought; and it had to do with the possibility of his brother not caring for this wife.
Still she did not speak.
"To a good woman, with a good husband," he continued, "there is no one— there should be no one—like the father of her child. And no woman ever loved her child more than you do yours." He knew that this was special pleading.
She trembled, and then dropped her cheek beside the child's. "I want Frank to be happy," he went on; "there is no one I care more for than for Frank."
She lifted her face to him now, in it a strange light. Then her look ran to confusion, and she seemed to read all that he meant to convey. He knew she did. He touched her shoulder.
"You must do the best you can every way, for Frank's sake, for all our sakes. I will help you—God knows I will—all I can."
"Ah, yes, yes," she whispered, from the child's pillow.
He could see the flame in her cheek. "I understand." She put out her hand to him, but did not look up. "Leave me alone with my baby, Richard," she pleaded.
He took her hand and pressed it again and again in his old, unconscious way. Then he let it go, and went slowly to the door. There he turned and looked back at her. He mastered the hot thought in him. "God help me!" she murmured from the cot. The next morning Richard went back to Greyhope.