“But you—you had a right to it—you were married. Children are sacred things,” said Augusta Maturin.
“Sacred! Could it be that a woman like Mrs. Maturity thought that this child which was coming to her was sacred, too?
“However they come?” asked Janet. “Oh, I tried to believe that, too! At first—at first I didn't want it, and when I knew it was coming I was driven almost crazy. And then, all at once, when I was walking in the rain, I knew I wanted it to have—to keep all to myself. You understand?”
Augusta Maturity inclined her head.
“But the father?” she managed to ask, after a moment. “I don't wish to pry, my dear, but does he—does he realize? Can't he help you?”
“It was Mr. Ditmar.”
“Perhaps it will help you to tell me about it, Janet.”
“I'd—I'd like to. I've been so unhappy since you told me he was dead—and I felt like a cheat. You see, he promised to marry me, and I know now that he loved me, that he really wanted to marry me, but something happened to make me believe he wasn't going to, I saw—another girl who'd got into trouble, and then I thought he'd only been playing with me, and I couldn't stand it. I joined the strikers—I just had to do something.”
Augusta Maturity nodded, and waited.
“I was only a stenographer, and we were very poor, and he was rich and lived in a big house, the most important man in Hampton. It seemed too good to be true—I suppose I never really thought it could happen. Please don't think I'm putting all the blame on him, Mrs. Maturity—it was my fault just as much as his. I ought to have gone away from Hampton, but I didn't have the strength. And I shouldn't have—” Janet stopped.