"Wait," commanded Ford. "Is it going to help me to find him?"
"No."
"Then don't tell me."
His tone caused the girl to start. She leaned toward him and peered into
his face. His eyes, as he looked back to her, were kind and
comprehending.
"You mean," said the amateur detective, "that your husband has deserted
you. That if it were not for the baby you would not try to find him. Is
that it?"
Mrs. Ashton breathed quickly and turned her face away.
"Yes," she whispered. "That is it."
There was a long pause. When she faced him again the fact that there was
no longer a secret between them seemed to give her courage.
"Maybe," she said, "you can understand. Maybe you can tell me what it
means. I have thought and thought. I have gone over it and over it until
when I go back to it my head aches. I have done nothing else but think,
and I can't make it seem better. I can't find any excuse. I have had no
one to talk to, no one I could tell. I have thought maybe a man could
understand." She raised her eyes appealingly.
"If you can only make it seem less cruel. Don't you see," she cried
miserably, "I want to believe; I want to forgive him.
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