Molly flung out a hand pettishly.
“Let him sleep,” she replied. “I don’t want to be bored with fits and tears.”
Jinnie sank into a chair.
“He ought to have a doctor,” she sighed, as if she were speaking to herself. Then turning to Molly, she bent an entreating look upon her.
“Please do something for him. Get a doctor, oh, do! He’s so little and so sick.”
“I’m not a bit interested in him,” replied Molly with a shrug.
Jinnie’s nerves had borne all they could. She trembled unceasingly. The girlish spirit had been broken by Morse’s continual persecution.
“He’s so little,” she petitioned again, “and he can’t live long.”
As Molly had said, she was not interested in the sleeping child. The only time she cared to hear him mentioned was when Jordan told her of Jinnie’s anguish over his 306 treatment of the child. She had delighted in his vividly described scene of how he had forced the girl to do his will through her love for the little fellow. Now she, too, would wreak her vengeance on Jinnie through the same source.
“I’ve come to tell you something about Theodore King,” she remarked slowly, watching the girl avidly the while.