She touched his sleeve—so pathetically:
“Let the child be born in honour—a secret marriage—anything.” She shrank back. “It is dreadful to think of being tied to you,” she moaned, “but—for the child’s sake—for the child’s sake you must be made to remember your promises—you must give the child honour.”
She saw his inane mouth opening to the uttering of foolishness.
She dropped at his feet, bowing her head to her shame, a wounded broken woman—this little more than child—soon to be the mother of a child.
He fidgeted:
“Well, you see, my dear girl—it can’t be marriage,” he drawled, “because I’m—er—morally married already—I’m almost engaged—and you know—as a gentleman——”
She brushed her hand back over her forehead. The enormity of his idiotcy stung her, and she groaned:
“My God!” said she—“what a bleating fool this is!”
“Oh yes, call me ridiculous names,” he complained huffily—“but I’m really glad to see that you realize that—er—as a gentleman——”
She rose from the floor, and turned upon him: