“Tell me what it is,” he said, manifestly surprised by the seriousness of her manner, and entirely unsuspecting the nature of the request.
A faint increase of colour stole into her cheeks, but she kept her gaze lifted to his.
“I have discovered a little child,” she explained softly, “whom nobody wants; and I want to mother him. I want to take him home with me.”
“You’ve always wanted that,” he said, and waited for further enlightenment.
Briefly she confided to his scandalised ears the story of William’s illegitimate son, observing him closely while she unfolded the sordid tale in simple direct language, making no appeal to sentiment, merely relating the bald facts and leaving these to work their own effect. She was not in the least surprised that he was too shocked on hearing the story to feel any sympathy for the child in his deserted condition. That side of the picture left him unmoved.
“You couldn’t bring that child home,” he said, with more than a touch of firmness. “A child like that! ... In our home! My dear, how could you wish such a thing in view of his parentage?”
“It is on account of his parentage I wish it,” Prudence answered quietly. “He is a Graynor, Edward. I want to give him a chance—a chance to grow up honest and decent living, a chance to become a better man than his father.”
“You talk as though the child were your responsibility,” he complained. “It’s nothing to do with us.”
“Not directly, no,” she said.
“Nor indirectly,” he insisted. “There isn’t the faintest reason why you should assume responsibility.”