“No.”
“Do you love him?”
“Dearly.”
The remembrance of her own loveless marriage stung Magdalen to the quick.
“For God’s sake, don’t kneel to me!” she cried, passionately. “If there is a degraded woman in this room, I am the woman—not you!”
She raised the girl by main force from her knees, and put her back in the chair. They both waited a little in silence. Keeping her hand on Louisa’s shoulder, Magdalen seated herself again, and looked with unutterable bitterness of sorrow into the dying fire. “Oh,” she thought, “what happy women there are in the world! Wives who love their husbands! Mothers who are not ashamed to own their children! Are you quieter?” she asked, gently addressing Louisa once more. “Can you answer me, if I ask you something else? Where is the child?”
“The child is out at nurse.”
“Does the father help to support it?”
“He does all he can, ma’am.”
“What is he? Is he in service? Is he in a trade?”