"Sue, make room in your life for a little child. You need him."

Her glance evaded his, flashed past his to the small, still bundle on the
couch. Then, suddenly, into her unhappy eyes leaped a suspicion. She
straightened in her chair.

"You don't mean--you're not suggesting--"

He smiled, comprehending. "No, no--nothing like that. Your heart isn't
big enough for that--yet. It's the mothers of children who make room for
the waifs, or those who have long been mothers in heart and have been
denied. You don't belong to either of those classes, do you?"

She drew a stifled breath. "You don't know what you are talking about,
Don. How could you, a bachelor like you?"

"Couldn't I? Well, Sue, if fathers may be divided into the same two
classes, I might be found in one of them."

She stared at him. "You? Oh, I can't believe it. You could have
married long ago, if you had wanted to. You could have married
anybody--simply anybody!"

"You do me too much honour--or discredit, I'm not just sure which."

"But it's true. With your position--and your money! Rich and brilliant
clergymen aren't so common, Donald Brown. And your personality, your
magnetism! Men care for you. Women have always hung on your words!"

He made a gesture of distaste; got up.