“She won't believe you.”
“Then she must disbelieve. She can call in her solicitor and I'll make him believe.”
Hephzy was silent. Her silence annoyed me.
“Why don't you say something?” I demanded. “You know what I say is plain common-sense.”
“I suppose it is—I suppose 'tis. But, Hosy, if you start in tellin' her again you know what'll happen. The doctor said the least little thing would bring on nervous prostration. And if she has that, WHAT will become of her?”
It was my turn to hesitate.
“You couldn't—we couldn't turn her out into the street if she was nervous prostrated, could we,” pleaded Hephzy. “After all, she's Ardelia's daughter and—”
“She's Strickland Morley's daughter. There is no doubt of that. Hereditary influence is plain enough in her case.”
“I know, but she is Ardelia's daughter, too. I don't see how we can tell her, Hosy; not until she's well and strong again.”
I was never more thoroughly angry in my life. My patience was exhausted.