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Chapter 7
Groseforamomentcollapsed,yetpresentlytopullherselftogetheragain,asiffromthepositiveforceofthesenseofwhat,shouldweyieldaninch,therewouldreallybetogivewayto.“Dear,dear—wemustkeepourheads!Andafterall,ifshedoesn’tmindit—!”Sheeventriedagrimjoke.“Perhapsshelikesit!”
“Likessuchthings—ascrapofaninfant!”
“Isn’titjustaproofofherblessedinnocence?”myfriendbravelyinquired.
Shebroughtme,fortheinstant,almostround.“Oh,wemustclutchatthat—wemustclingtoit!Ifitisn’taproofofwhatyousay,it’saproofof—Godknowswhat!Forthewoman’sahorrorofhorrors.”
Mrs.Grose,atthis,fixedhereyesaminuteontheground;thenatlastraisingthem,“Tellmehowyouknow,”shesaid.
“Thenyouadmitit’swhatshewas?”Icried.
“Tellmehowyouknow,”myfriendsimplyrepeated.
“Know?Byseeingher!Bythewayshelooked.”
“Atyou,doyoumean—sowickedly?”
“Dearme,no—Icouldhavebornethat.Shegavemeneveraglance.Sheonlyfixedthechild.”
Mrs.Grosetriedtoseeit.“Fixedher?”
“Ah,withsuchawfuleyes!”
Shestaredatmineasiftheymightreallyhaveresembledthem.“Doyoumeanofdislike?”
“Godhelpus,no.Ofsomethingmuchworse.”
“Worsethandislike?”—thisleftherindeedataloss.
“Withadetermination—indescribable.Withakindoffuryofintention.”
Imadeherturnpale.“Intention?”
“Togetholdofher.”Mrs.
