"There's no reason why we should meet any more. But I want you to know that the—the—it, will be taken care of. My lawyer will see you about it; I'll have it placed somewhere."
She dropped her hands and looked at him, her little, pretty face amazed and twitching: "Do you mean you'll take my baby?"
"I'll see that it's provided for."
"I ain't that kind of a girl!" They were standing, one on either side of a highly varnished table, on which, on a little brass tray, a cigarette stub was still smoldering. "I don't want anything out of you"—Lily paused; then said, "Mr. Curtis"—(the fact that she didn't call him "Curt" showed her recognition of a change in their relationship)—"I'm not on the grab. I can keep on at Marston's for quite a bit. All I want is just if you can help me in February? But I'll never give my baby up! My first one died."
"Your first—"
"So I'll never, never give it up!" Her shallow, honest, amber-colored eyes overflowed with bliss. "I'll just love it!" she said.
Maurice felt an almost physical collapse; neither he nor Henry Houghton had reckoned on maternal love. Mr. Houghton had implied that Lily's kind did not have maternal love. "She'll leave it on a convenient doorstep—unless she's a white blackbird," Henry Houghton had said. Maurice, too, had taken for granted Lily's eagerness to get rid of the child. In his amazement now, at this revelation of an unknown Lily—a white blackbird Lily!—he began, angrily, to argue: "It is impossible for you to keep it! Impossible! I won't permit it—"
"I wouldn't give it up for anything in the world! I'll take care of it. You needn't worry for fear I'll put it onto you."
"But I won't have you keep it! I promise you I'll look after it. You must go away, somewhere. Anywhere!"
"But I don't want to leave Mercer," she said, simply.