“Yet? Oh, then—”
“If there were, would it make a difference?”
“Of course! an infinite difference!”
“You think a man and woman ought to let their child keep them together in any event?”
“Need I say it? What greater bond of union could there be? Is it not God's own seal and blessing on the wedlock, rendering it, so to speak, even more indissoluble? You blush, my child. Is it true, then, that—”
“A child is expected.”
“Ah, my dear girl! How that proves what I have maintained! The birth of the little one will bring the errant father to his senses. The tiny hands will unite its parents as if they were the hands of a priest drawing them together. That child is the divine messenger confirming the sacrament.”
“You believe that?”
“Utterly. Oh, I am glad. Motherhood is the crowning triumph; it hallows any woman howsoever lowly or wicked. And you are neither, Charity. I know you to be good and busy in good works. But were you never so evil, this heavenly privilege would make of you a very vessel of sanctity.”
Charity turned pale as she sprung the trap. “The child is expected—not by me, but by the other woman.”