“She was at home until you went to Cincinnati last spring. I went down and brought her then.”
“Was she there the times I came to Cleveland?”
“Yes,” said Jennie; “but I didn’t let her come out anywhere where you could see her.”
“I thought you said you told your people that you were married,” he exclaimed, wondering how this relationship of the child to the family could have been adjusted.
“I did,” she replied, “but I didn’t want to tell you about her. They thought all the time I intended to.”
“Well, why didn’t you?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“I didn’t know what was going to become of me when I went with you, Lester. I didn’t want to do her any harm if I could help it. I was ashamed, afterward; when you said you didn’t like children I was afraid.”
“Afraid I’d leave you?”