“One word, America!—It’s all over—between us?”
He could hear his watch ticking; and outdoor sounds buzzed in his ears.
“No,” answered America. “It is not all over between us.”
Ross Carr dropped his groping hand on the stair newel, his next sentence also coming in fragments.
“There won’t be any use—Shall I come here—for the ceremony—next Thursday?”
“Thursday,” spoke the low, slow voice above him, “at two o’clock, was the time we set.”
The culprit lifted his eyes to her and exclaimed:—
“America, tell me what you want me to do!”
“I want you,” she said, “to be a father to your child!” Her mouth struggled. She flung out the rest in a wail—“and never speak to me of this again!”
Not fit to prostrate himself before her virgin motherhood, the tarnished man hid his face on his arm against the stair-rail. She carried his child out of sight.