"I have known Johnny Smith's parentage for several years, Mary."
"I didn't say the child was Johnny Smith!"
"I said so."
"I don't know what you're talking about! The father and mother lived out West, but I don't know the child. He is nothing to me."
"I wonder," said Doctor Lavendar, half to himself, "do we all deny love thrice?—for you do love him, Mary, my dear; I know you do."
She tried, in panic denial, to meet his quiet eyes—then gave a little moan and bent over and hid her face on her knees.
"Oh, I do love him—I do," she said in a whisper. "But he doesn't love me. . . . And yet he is mine—Carl's and mine." Then anger flared up again: "Who told you? Oh, it was Miss Lydia, and she promised she wouldn't! How wicked in her!"
"No one told me." There was a moment's silence, then Doctor Lavendar said, "There were people in Old Chester who thought he was Miss Lydia's."
"Fools! fools!" she said, passionately.
"No one came forward to deny it."