Pearl did not deny it.
"And you should know the whole story, and then judge for yourself whether you consider I am a fit person to live with."
"But I do already," said Pearl. "I consider you a very proper and delightful person to live with. I don't want to know a thing about you unless you care to tell me. You don't know anything about me either—we both have to take a chance—and I am willing if you are."
"But there will be an insurrection in the neighborhood. They won't let you, Pearl. They can't forgive me for coming here without reference or character, and with a child, too."
"Well, he's a pretty fine child," said Pearl, "and, I should say, a sort of certificate for his mother."
"Well, no matter how fine a child he is—no matter what care a mother has taken in his training—nothing can atone, in the eyes of society for the failure of conforming to some of their laws. Society's laws, not God's laws. Society is no friend to women, Pearl."
"But it is just because people do not think," said Pearl, "They have made certain laws—and women have not made any protest, so the men think they are all right."
"And do you know why, Pearl?" she asked. "Women who are caught in the tangle of these laws, as I was, cannot say a word—their lips are dumb. The others won't say a word for fear of spoiling their matrimonial market. The worst thing that can be said of a woman is that she's queer and strong-minded—and defies custom. If you want to be happy, Pearl, be self-centered, virtuous, obey the law, and care nothing for others."
"You don't mean that," said Pearl. "You've been hard hit some way I do not want to know until you want to tell me. But I am going to stay with you if you will keep me. I am determined to stay."
Annie Gray's steely eyes clouded over again, like a sun-kissed lake when a cloud passes over it. They grew deeper, grayer, and of misty tenderness.