THE OLD MAID
giving her personal care to these children until . . . until . . .” A flush of pride suffused the potential father’s brow . . . “till nearer duties claim her, why, I’m more than ready . . . if you'll tell her so. I undertake,” Joe proclaimed, suddenly tingling with the memory of his last glass, “to make it right with my mother, whose prejudices, of course, while I respect them, I can never allow to—to come between me and my own convictions.” He sprang to his feet, and beamed on his dauntless double in the chimney-mirror. “My convictions,” he flung back at it.
“Hear, hear!” cried Jim emotionally.
Delia’s needle gave the canvas a sharp prick, and she pushed her work aside.
“I think I understand you both, Joe. Certainly, in Charlotte’s place, I could never give up those children.”
“There you are, my dear fellow!” Jim
