“I mean what I say,” cried Emmy desperately.  “Septimus has done everything short of laying down his life for you, and that he would have done if necessary, and you haven’t even taken the trouble to see the soul in the man that was capable of it.  And now that something has happened which you can’t help seeing you come in your grand way to put it all to rights in a minute.  You think I’ve turned him out because he’s a good-natured worry like Bobbie, the bob-tailed sheep dog, and you say, ’Poor fellow, see how pitifully he’s wagging his tail.  It’s cruel of you not to let him in.’  That’s the way you look at Septimus, and I can’t stand it and I won’t.  I love him as I never dreamed a woman could love a man.  I could tear myself into little pieces for him bit by bit.  And I can’t get him.  He’s as far removed from me as the stars in heaven.  You could never understand.  I pray every night to God to forgive me, and to work a miracle and bring him to me.  But miracles don’t happen.  He’ll never come to me.  He can’t come to me.  While you have been patronizing him, patting him on the head, playing Lady Bountiful to him—­as you are doing to the other man who has given up a fortune this very morning just because he loves you—­while you’ve been doing this and despising him—­yes, you know you do in your heart, for a simple, good-natured, half-witted creature who amuses himself with crazy inventions, he has done a thing to save you from pain and shame and sorrow—­you, not me—­because he loved you.  And now I love him.  I would give all I have in life for the miracle to happen.  But it can’t.  Don’t you understand?  It can’t!”

She stood panting in front of Zora, a passionate woman obeying elemental laws; and when passionate women obey elemental laws they are reckless in speech and overwhelming in assertion and denunciation.  Emmy was the first whom Zora had encountered.  She was bewildered by the storm of words, and could only say, rather stupidly: 

“Why can’t it?”

Emmy thew two or three short breaths.  The notion had come again.  The temptation was irresistible.  Zora should know, having brought it on herself.  She opened the door.

“Madame Bolivard!” she cried.  And when the Frenchwoman appeared she pointed to the bassinette.

“Take baby into the bedroom.  It will be better for him there.”

“Bien, madame,” said Madame Bolivard, taking up the child.  And when the door had closed behind her Emmy pointed to it and said: 

“That’s why.”

Zora started forward, horror stricken.

“Emmy, what do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you.  I couldn’t with him in the room.  I should always fancy that he had heard me, and I want him to respect and love his mother.”

“Emmy!” cried Zora.  “Emmy!  What are you saying?  Your son not respect you—­if he knew—­do you mean...?”

“Yes,” said Emmy, “I do—­Septimus went through the marriage ceremony with me and gave us his name.  That’s why we are living apart.  Now you know.”