“But, my God!” he says, “suppose you catch it yourself, Jane!” I set up straight then, and I would of give a good deal to see through that door, because Jane was the perfessor's wife's first name. “You mean suppose _you_ get it,” she says. I like to of seen the look she must of give him to fit in with the way she says that _you_. He didn't say nothing, the man didn't; and then her voice softens down some, and she says, low and slow: “Henry, wouldn't you love me if I _did_ get it? Suppose it marked and pitted me all up?” “Oh, of course,” he says, “of course I would. Nothing can change the way I feel. _You_ know that.” He said it quick enough, all right, just the way they do in a show, but it sounded _too much_ like it does on the stage to of suited me if _I'd_ been her. I seen folks overdo them little talks before this. I listens some more, and then I see how it is. This is that musician feller Biddy Malone's been talking about. Jane's going to run off with him all right, but she's got to kiss the kids first. Women is like that. They may hate the kids' pa all right, but they's dad-burned few of 'em don't like the kids. I thinks to myself: “It must be late. I bet they was already started, or ready to start, and she made him bring her here first so's she could sneak in and see the kids. She just simply couldn't get by. But she's taking a fool risk, too. Fur how's she going to see Margery with that nurse coming and going and hanging around all night? And even if she tries just to see William Dear it's a ten to one shot he'll wake up and she'll be ketched at it.” And then I thinks, suppose she _is_ ketched at it? What of it? Ain't a woman got a right to come into her own house with her own door key, even if they is a quarantine on to it, and see her kids? And if she is ketched seeing them, how would anyone know she was going to run off? And ain't she got a right to have a friend of hern and her husband's bring her over from her mother's house, even if it is a little late? Then I seen she wasn't taking no great risks neither, and I thinks mebby I better go and tell that perfessor what is going on, fur he has treated me purty white. And then I thinks: “I'll be gosh-derned if I meddle. So fur as I can see that there perfessor ain't getting fur from what's coming to him, nohow. And as fur _her_, you got to let some people find out what they want fur theirselves. Anyhow, where do _I_ come in at?” But I want to get a look at her and Henry, anyhow. So I eases off my shoes, careful-like, and I eases acrost the floor to them sliding doors, and I puts my eye down to the little crack. The talk is going backward and forward between them two, him wanting her to come away quick, and her undecided whether to risk seeing the kids. And all the time she's kind o' hoping mebby she will be ketched if she tries to see the kids, and she's begging off fur more time ginerally. Well, sir, I didn't blame that musician feller none when I seen her. She was a peach.