So she began speaking in a large way of life, how hard it was, how complicated.  How they all loved Worth and wished to do the best thing for him, how she feared it must hurt the child’s personality, living in that unsettled fashion, now under one influence, now under another.  She spoke of Clara’s own future, how she had that to think of and how it was hard she be so—­restricted.  She drew a vivid picture of what life might be if Clara didn’t “provide for the future”—­she was careful to use no phrase so raw to truly feminine ears as “make a good marriage.”  And then, rather curtly when it came to it, tired of the ingratiating preamble, she asked Clara what she would think of relinquishing all claim on Worth and taking twenty thousand dollars.

Clara tried to look more insulted by the proposition than invited by the sum.  But Katie got a glimmer of that look of greed known to her of old.

She went on talking.  She was sure every one would think it beautiful of Clara to let Worth go to them just because they had a better way of caring for him, just because it was for the child’s good.  Every one would know how it must hurt her and admire her for the sacrifice.  And then Katie mentioned the fact that the matter could be closed immediately and Clara start at once for Nice and perhaps that itself would “mean something to the future.”

From behind Clara’s handkerchief—­Clara’s tears were in close relation to Clara’s sense of the fitness of things—­Katie made out that life seemed driving her to this, but that it hurt her to think so tragic a thing should be associated with so paltry a sum.

“It’s my limit,” said Katie shortly.  “Take it or leave it.”

Amid more sobs Katie got that all the Jones family were heartless, that life was cruel, but that she was willing to make any sacrifice for her child’s good.

“Then I’ll go down and get him,” said Katie, rising.

Clara’s sobs ceased instantly.  “Get who?”

“My lawyer.  I left him down there talking to the concierge.”

“Katie Jones—­how could you!”

“Oh she looks like a decent enough woman,” said Katie.  “I don’t think it will hurt him any.”

“Katie, you have grown absolutely—­vulgar.  And so hard.  You have no fineness—­no intuition—­nothing feminine about you.  And how dared you bring your lawyer here to me?  What right had you to assume I’d do this?”

“Why I knew you well enough, Clara, to believe you would be willing to do it—­for your child’s good.”

Clara looked at her suspiciously and Katie hastened to add that she brought him because she wanted to pay ten thousand francs on account and she thought Clara might want to get the disagreeable business all settled up at once so she could hurry on to Nice before those friends of hers got over to Algiers, or some place where Clara might not be able to go after them.

Clara again looked suspicious, but only said it was inconsiderate of Katie to expect her to receive a lawyer with her poor eyes in that condition.