“No.”
A faint flush overspread his face.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Are people any better, do you think, for having learning?”
She had had but one experience,—to that she held fast.
“It astonishes me that any person can ask such a question.”
“No, indeed; I know they are no better for it,” and with this she started down the steps to put an end to this nonsense. But he stepped in her way.
“Here is a duty which you must not shirk,” said he. “You are an unwise mother,”
Gunlaug measured him from head to foot.
“Who told you what I am,” said she, and swept past him.
“You yourself this very moment; for had you been otherwise you must have seen that this child will go to ruin unless something be done.”
Gunlaug turned; her eye met his; she saw that he really meant what he said, and it frightened her. Hitherto she had only had sea-faring men and trades-people to deal with; such language as this was new to her.
“What do you want with the child?” she asked.
