“So!” Miss Baird shrugged her thin shoulders. “You forget, my friend, that until Kitty is twenty-five years of age, I am her legal guardian, and that she is absolutely dependent upon me.”
“You give her a home and let her work that she may contribute to your support,” he retorted.
At his words her eyes blazed in fury and her talonlike fingers fumbled in the silver bowl for the few pieces of sugar it contained.
“I am her only blood relation. It is fitting and proper that she aid me in my old age,” she exclaimed. “My poverty,” she paused, and a certain dignity crept into both voice and manner, “is my misfortune.”
“And Kitty,” he began, but got no further.
“We will not discuss Kitty,” she announced with finality. “Wait,” as he started to interrupt her. “Such discussion is totally unnecessary, for Kitty will never marry you.”
“Why not?”
“For two excellent reasons.” She spoke with deliberation. “Kitty shall not marry a poor man, nor shall she marry a man with an hereditary taint.”
The man regarded her steadfastly across the table, his strong capable hands still holding the peach which he had been peeling. The silence lengthened, but neither seemed inclined to break it. Suddenly, the man laid down the peach and taking out his handkerchief, passed it across his lips; then, still in silence, he picked up the fruit knife, cut the peach in two and, placing the fruit in front of Miss Baird, rose and left the library.