“But will you keep it?”
“Keep it!” cried Grace, “isn’t it mine? I’ll keep it of course. Take it back and say I’ve adopted it. People will believe it—or not. But I’m pretty valuable to my work. I fancy they’ll believe it or, pretend that they do. What do I care if they don’t?”
“And the father?” ventured Horatia.
Grace’s shoulders shrugged just a trifle.
“Gracious, he doesn’t know about it. It’s not his affair. He wasn’t looking for children. It’s mine. Besides I’m done with him and he knows it—months ago. As a matter of fact, Horatia, I’m done with all that.”
She went on talking with her old passion for analysis.
“You mustn’t imagine that this is a heavy reformation. I haven’t any sense of being reformed. I don’t want to be reformed. Indirectly it’s because of the baby, of course. I’ve had love and now I have my baby. I’m not as greedy as most women. I’m contented with my baby. I don’t have to have love too. I have work and my child and that’s all I want. You told me once that the sum total of my philosophy was wrong. And I think I’ve found out why. It’s because it didn’t have any hope—any chance in it. Since that baby came, I’ve had a tremendous sense of new hopes—of a chance always that a further generation can straighten things out. It’s such a clean slate to write on.”
“You’re a wonderful woman, Grace,” Horatia said, “more brave and more wonderful than almost any woman I know. I’d give anything to be as brave as you are. And I’m so proud to have your daughter bear my name.”
Grace reddened a little awkwardly.
“I’ve talked a lot about myself,” she answered, “let’s have your affairs on the table. Where’s Langley?”