“Or else—” the blush darkened—“that she’s Jim’s—”
Again Dr. Lanskell nodded. “That’s what they’re more likely to think; and what’s the harm if they do? I know Jim: he asked you no questions when you took the child—but he knew whose she was.”
She raised astonished eyes. “He knew—?”
“Yes: he came to me. And—well—in the baby’s interest I violated professional secrecy. That’s how Tina got a home. You’re not going to denounce me, are you?”
“Oh, Dr. Lanskell—” Her eyes filled with painful tears. “Jim knew? And didn’t tell me?”
“No. People didn’t tell each other things much in those days, did they? But he admired you enormously for what you did. And if you assume—as I suppose{146} you do—that he’s now in a world of completer enlightenment, why not take it for granted that he’ll admire you still more for what you’re going to do? Presumably,” the Doctor concluded sardonically, “people realize in heaven that it’s a devilish sight harder, on earth, to do a brave thing at forty-five than at twenty-five.”
{146}
“Ah, that’s what I was thinking this morning,” she confessed.
“Well, you’re going to prove the contrary this afternoon.” He looked at his watch, stood up and laid a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “Let people think what they choose; and send young Delia to me if she gives you any trouble. Your boy won’t, you know, nor John Junius either; it must have been a woman who invented that third-and-fourth generation idea....”
An elderly maid-servant looked in, and Delia rose; but on the threshold she halted.{147}
{147}
“I have an idea it’s Charlotte I may have to send to you.”
“Charlotte?”
“She’ll hate what I’m going to do, you know.”
Dr. Lanskell lifted his silver eyebrows. “Yes: poor Charlotte! I suppose she’s jealous? That’s where the truth of the third-and-fourth generation business comes in, after all. Somebody always has to foot the bill.”
“Ah—if only Tina doesn’t!”
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