The poor, poor lady!
“She might as well understand now as later,” he continued. “She will have to help keep the situation from the mother.”
“Yes,” I said, faintly; and then, “Who shall tell her?”
“I think,” suggested the doctor, “she might prefer to be told by a woman.”
So I shut my lips together and took the distracted lady gently by the arm and led her to the door. We stole like two criminals down the veranda, and along the path to the beach, and near the boathouse we stopped, and I began.
“Mrs. Tuis, you may remember a circumstance which your niece mentioned to me—that just before her marriage she urged you to have certain inquiries made as to Mr. van Tuiver’s health, his fitness for marriage?”
Never shall I forget her face at that moment. “Sylvia told you that!”
“The inquiries were made,” I went on, “but not carefully enough, it seems. Now you behold the consequence of this negligence.”
I saw her blank stare. I added: “The one to pay for it is the child.”
“You—you mean—” she stammered, her voice hardly a whisper. “Oh—it is impossible!” Then, with a flare of indignation: “Do you realise what you are implying—that Mr. van Tuiver—”