Mrs. Thompson: A Novel

by W. B. Maxwell

"Yes, indeed I have."

"Beastly unlucky, isn't it?"

"What's that?"

"But I am unlucky."

"Unlucky, Mr. Kenion!" Mrs. Marsden had flushed; and her face plainly expressed the anger and contempt that she felt.

"No one can say I'm to blame," Kenion went on gloomily and grumblingly. "I'd have given fifty pounds to prevent its happening. It wasn't my fault. I knew she was as clever as a cat. I thought she couldn't make a mistake."

"Mr. Kenion," said Mrs. Marsden hotly, "if you aren't ashamed to speak like this, I am ashamed to listen to you."

"Eh—what?"

"Where is Enid?" And she moved towards the door. "I think your attitude is unmanly—mean—and despicable; and I wish—yes, I wish Enid's child was going to have a better father."