“You’ll want all the goodness you can get, my girl, and so shall I. This one will be my first, and I’ll take care there’s not another. Gawd!” she clenched her thin hands in denunciation. “Men are rotters, aren’t they? It’s a bleeding shame we should have to pay for their pleasure!”

All the bitterness of woman from the first beginnings was in that voice, all the passionate revolt against the fate which makes the woman pay. It was a dramatic moment. Instinctively I caught my breath. It was the Madonna of the club foot who answered her.

“Ah, yes!” she said, with a wonderful smile, “they may have the pleasure, but we have the babies. When I knew mine was coming, I felt a bit like you; I couldn’t know how I should want it; and then it came, and something grew in me as if my heart would burst, and I don’t care what happens, so as he’s mine!”

“But how do you keep him⁠—and you with another coming?”