The deep, slow voice of the lawyer sounded on. His eyes turned toward her had no equivocal look. He was a brother speaking to a younger sister. The tears fell down her cheeks, upon her folded hands. Her widely opened eyes seemed to look out into a night of storms.
"Oh, what shall I do?" she moaned. "I wish I was dead—and baby too!"
"Live for the baby—let him help you out."
"Oh, he can't! I don't care enough for him. I wish I was like other mothers; but I'm not. I can't shut myself up with a baby. I'm too young."
He saw that. She was seeking the love of a man, not the care of a child. She had the wifely passion, but not the mother's love. He was silent; the case baffled him.
"Oh, I wish you could help me. I wish I had you all the time. I do! I don't care what you think, I do, I do!"
"Our home is open to you and baby, too," he said slowly. "My wife knows about you, and——"
"Who told her—did you?" she flashed out again, angrily, jealously.
"Yes. My wife is my other self," he replied quietly.
She stared at him, breathing heavily, then looked out of the window again. At last she turned to him. She seemed to refer to his invitation.