“Good night!” I heard her say. “Much as I would like to see this work
accomplished, I shall come no more!”
“But, my God! You cannot throw the thing up at this late date.”
“I can and I will. Let me pass, sir.”
“If there were no millstone around my neck, you would not say, sir,’ in
that tone of voice.”
The next I heard was a heavy fall. Miss Moran had knocked my big husband
down.
I pushed open the door. Miss Moran, cool and collected, was pulling on
her gloves. James was struggling to his feet.
“Oh, Mrs. Carson!” exclaimed the former. “Your husband fell over the
stool. Wasn’t it stupid of him!”
* * * * *
James, of course, got his divorce six months after I deserted him. He
did not ask for the child, and I was allowed to keep it.