"Whose? Why, your own, lad—yours and Nettie's."
"Mine and—Have you gone plumb crazy, doc?"
"Not I, lad. I helped bring your child into the world this morning, and Nettie's resting quiet now, and waiting for you, I have no doubt. Now, lad——"
He broke off, for something in the look and motion of Cyril Stanley stopped him from further reproach.
"I've no intention of being hard on you. Young blood—is—young blood, and I was young myself once."
Cyril had staggered back, like one mortally struck. Slowly the truth had dawned upon him, and with the realization that Nettie had been false to him, something primitive and furious seemed to shake the foundations of his being; something that was made up of outrage and ungodly hatred.
"So—she's—got—a baby, has she?"
"A wee lad——"
"And you come to me—to me to get a name for it!"
"To you? Who else?"