"I don't believe she will," his wife said, "but if she does, he can at
least see all he wants of the boy. He seems to be an unusually bright
child."

Her husband nodded. "Yes; Nature isn't shocked at illegitimacy; and God
doesn't penalize it."

"But _you_ do," she said, quickly, "when you won't admit that Jacky is
the crux of the whole thing! It isn't poor Maurice who ought to be
considered, nor that sad, tragic old Eleanor; nor the dreadful person in
Medfield. But just that little child--_whom Maurice has brought into the
world_."

"Do you mean," her husband said, aghast, "that if Eleanor saw fit to
divorce him, you think he should marry this 'Lily,' so that he could get
the child?"

She did shrink at that. "Well--" she hesitated.

He saw his advantage, and followed it: "He couldn't get complete
possession in any other way! Unless he were legally the father, the
woman could, at any minute, carry off this--what did you say his name
was?--Jacky?--to Kamchatka, if she wanted to! Or she might very well
marry somebody else; that kind do. Then Maurice wouldn't have any finger
in the pie! No; really to get control of the child, he'd have to marry
her, which, as you yourself admit, is impossible."

"I don't admit it."

"_Mary!_ You must be reasonable; you know it would be shocking! So why
not keep things as they are? Why run the risk of an explosion, by
confessing to Eleanor?"

Mary Houghton pondered, silently.

"Kit," he said, "this is a 'condition and not a theory'; the woman
was--was common, you know. Maurice doesn't owe her anything; he has paid
the piper ten times over! Any further payment, like ruining his career
by 'making an honest woman' of her,--granting an explosion and then
Eleanor's divorcing him,--would be not only wrong, but ridiculous; which
is worse! Maurice is an able fellow; I rather expect to see him go in
for politics one of these days. Imagine this 'Lily' at the head of his
table! Or even imagine her as a fireside companion!"

"It would be terrible," she admitted--her voice trembled--"but Jacky's
life is more important than Maurice's dinner table. And fireside
happiness is less important than the meeting of an obligation! Henry,
Maurice made a bad woman Jacky's mother; he owes _her_ nothing. But do
you mean to say that you don't think he owes the child a decent father?"

"My darling," Henry Houghton said, tenderly, "you are really a little
crazy. You are like your stars, you so 'steadfastl