Pat took her courage in her hands. "Dee, is it his baby?"
"If it were, I'd want to have it," was the low, vehement response. "I'd be proud to have it."
For the moment Pat was awed. Passion she understood well enough; but not in this degree. She gathered her forces again.
"Is it Jimmie's, then?"
"Yes; it's Jim's."
"You say that," marvelled Pat, "as if you were ashamed of it."
"I am. God knows I am!" She bowed her proudly set head in her hands and rocked it to and fro. "Pat, there's nothing so rotten and shameful in the world as marrying a man you don't love."
"You didn't have to," said Pat, gaping. "What did you do it for?"
"The usual thing: convenience. And because I was afraid of making a fool of myself by—with someone else. It couldn't come to anything, the other thing. So I got reckless and took Jim. It wasn't a fool that I made of myself; it was something worse. Shall I tell you?"
"No. Don't think it. You did the right thing."