A gush of grateful tears blinded her, but she choked down her sobs.
“I said things to him that night that were enough to drive him crazy. I was always the one in fault, but he was always the one to make up first, and he never would have gone away from me if he had known what he was doing! But he will come back, I know he will,” she said, rising. “And oh, you won't say anything to anybody, will you? And he'll get back before they find out. I will send those men to you, and Bartley will see about it as soon as he comes home—”
“Don't go, Mrs. Hubbard,” said the lawyer. “I want to speak with you a little longer.” She dropped again in her chair, and looked at him inquiringly. “Have you written to your father about this?”
“Oh, no,” she answered quickly, with an effect of shrinking back into herself.
“I think you had better do so. You can't tell when your husband will return, and you can't go on in this way.”
“I will never tell father,” she replied, closing her lips inexorably.
The lawyer forbore to penetrate the family trouble he divined. “Are you all alone in the house?” he asked.
“The girl is there. And the baby.”
“That won't do, Mrs. Hubbard,” said Atherton, with a compassionate shake of the head. “You can't go on living there alone.”
“Oh, yes, I can. I'm not afraid to be alone,” she returned with the air of having thought of this.