It was cheating, pitiful cheating. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup.
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