CHAPTER VII
"Pshaw! pshaw!" Dr. Leonard exclaimed, in a coaxing tone. "I'm disappointed, Alves. 'Tain't natural. I mean to see him and show him what harm it is."
"No, no, don't speak of it again, at least to him," Alves pleaded anxiously. "He would do that, or anything, if he thought I wanted it. I don't want it, I tell you; I'm happier as it is."
"S'pose there are children?" the old dentist asked, in a convincing tone.
"I hope there never will be."
"Now, that shows how wrong you are, how fussed up—why, what's marriage for if it ain't for children? I guess I've had as hard a struggle as most to keep head to the tide, but I couldn't spare the children. Now, I'll get our minister to do the job. You and the doctor come out next Sunday to my house, and after the evening service we'll slip over to the church and make it all right."
Alves smiled at the earnest kindness of the old dentist, but shook her head firmly. Dr. Leonard gathered up his overcoat and silk hat, but seemed loath to go. He peered out of the windows that Sommers had put into the big doors of the temple.
"It's like your living out here in this ramshackle old chicken-coop, when you might have a tidy flat on Paulina Street; and the doctor could have a desk in my office next door to his old boss." Dr. Leonard spoke testily, and Alves laid her hand soothingly on his arm.
"I guess we aren't made to be like other people."
"You won't have any happiness so long as you defy God's law."