“There you go. It’s all right for you not to want a child, but it’s indecent in me. That’s a man-made idea, and it won’t work any more. Lots of us don’t find motherhood either satisfying or interesting, and we’re getting courage enough to say so.”
“The less you say about it, the better,” counselled Wally.
“To get back to Isabelle, she’s here, and she’s just as much your responsibility as she is mine.”
“Being here isn’t her fault, poor kid. Seems as if somebody ought to—well—love her,” he finished in embarrassment.
“Go ahead. I’ve no objection.”
Mrs. Bryce returned to her book.
“By Jove, Max, you’re hard as rocks.”
“Oh, get out, Wally. I’m not interested in your conversation. Go liven up the party.”
“Why don’t you try a younger governess, for a change?” he went on, undeterred. “Wilder is so old and sort of set.”
Mrs. Bryce closed her book with irritated finality.