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She had needed to know
what Emile knew, and chance had led her to learn it, as she had
learned it, with her eyes instead of from the lips of her child.
She wondered what Vere would have said if she had been asked to reveal
the secret. She would never know that now. But there were other things
that she felt she must know: why Vere had never told her--and
something else.
Her act of that day had twisted her out of shape. She was awry, and
she felt that she must continue to be as she was, that her fearless
honesty was no longer needed by her, could no longer rightly serve her
in the new circumstances that others had created for her. They had
been secret. She could not be open. She was constrained to watch, to
conceal--to be awry, in fact.
Yet she felt guilty even while she said this to herself, guilty and
ashamed, and then doubtful. She doubted her new capacity to be
furtive. She could watch, but she did not know whether she could watch
without showing what she was doing. And Emile was terribly observant.


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