“For whom else are you speaking?” he asked, withdrawing his fingers.
“I do not wish to tell you, William.”
“For whom else?” he repeated, glaring at her.
“For one who is very dear to me, and who will starve, too, unless you help us. William, I entreat you to remember——”
“But who is this pauper you are helping, and why should I help her, too?”
“It is not a pauper,” she said indignantly. “It is some one who is dearer than all the world to me; and, once more, I entreat you to help us.”
“Well, but who is it?—is it a child?”
“No,” she answered, in a low voice, full of infinite tenderness, and she clasped her hands and let her chin fall on her breast.
“Who is it?” he asked sternly.
“It is my husband”—and almost a sob broke from her.