Hannibal inquired, hoarsely: "Not this baby, surely? Not that woman's child?"
"It's Bob's baby and ours."
He looked down at her queerly for a moment. "The breed is rotten. If he had married a decent girl—"
"John Merkle says she is splendid."
"How do you know?"
"I have talked with him. I have learned whatever I could about her, wherever I could, and it's all good. After all, Bob loves her, and isn't that enough?"
"But she doesn't love him," stormed the father. "She said she didn't.
She wants his money, and she thinks she'll get it this way."
"Do you think money can pay her for what she is enduring at this minute? She's frightened, just as I was frightened when Bob was born. She's sick and suffering. But do you think all our dollars could buy that child from her? Money has made us hard, Hannibal; let's—be different."
"I'm afraid we have put it off too long," he answered, slowly. "She won't forgive us, and I'm not sure I want her to."
"Bob's in trouble. Won't you go to him?"