The doctor looked at him with a start, and a half-spoken question.
"Yes; she told me. But I want to ask you about the man. She didn't say much about him."
This was Sunday evening; David had gone to bed, and Danny had climbed up into Dr. Lavendar's chair, and been gently deposited on the hearth-rug. "No, Daniel; not to-night, sir. I've got to have my chair just this once." William had come in for his usual smoke, but he had been more than usually silent. When Dr. Lavendar gave his calm permission, the doctor's wretched perplexity of the past month could hardly find words. He said, first of all,
"David? Of course you will take him away. It will break her heart!"
"A broken heart is not such a bad thing, Willy. Our Heavenly Father does not despise it."
"Dr. Lavendar, why can't she keep him? She'll never see that scoundrel again!"
"Do you think a woman with such a story is fit to bring up a child,
William?"
The doctor was silent.
"She thinks not, herself," said Dr. Lavendar.
"Does she?" William King said; and a minute afterwards fumbled in his coat tails for his pocket-handkerchief. "What is she going to do?" he asked huskily.