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She came back
slowly to her mother, who was sitting on a chair by the bedside.
Hermione took her hand, and Vere pushed up the edge of the mosquito-
curtain and sat down on the bed.
"About those books of Emile's--" Hermione began.
"Oh, Madre, you're not going to-- But you've promised!"
"Yes."
"Then I may?"
"Why should you wish to read such books? They will probably make you
sad, and--and they may even make you afraid of Emile."
"Afraid! Why?"
"I remember long ago, before I knew him, I had a very wrong conception
of him, gained from his books."
"Oh, but I know him beforehand. That makes all the difference."
"A man like Emile has many sides."
"I think we all have, Madre. Don't you?"
Vere looked straight at her mother. Hermione felt that a moment had
come in which, perhaps, she could force the telling of that truth
which already she knew.
"I suppose so, Vere; but we need not surely keep any side hidden from
those we love, those who are nearest to us."
Vere looked a little doubtful--even, for a moment, slightly confused.


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