“Please stop fighting me. You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. But she did not talk readily, and in order to say something she plunged a little, and felt she plunged. She won’t be a problem from now on. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him. Her eyes flashed. Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you. “I suppose most people’s letters are queer. This gloom was impossible.
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