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"N--o?" she said.
She seemed to consider something. Then she added:
"But I think it depends. If something in us might give pain to any one
we love, I think we ought to try to hide that. I am sure we ought."
Hermione felt that each of them was thinking of the same thing, even
speaking of it without mentioning it. But whereas she knew that Vere
was doing so, Vere could not know that she was. So Vere was at a
disadvantage. Vere's last words had opened the mother's eyes. What she
had guessed was true. This secret of the poems was kept from her
because of her own attempt to create and its failure. Abruptly she
wondered if Vere and Emile had ever talked that failure over. At the
mere thought of such a conversation her whole body tingled. She got up
from her chair.
"Well, good-night, Vere," she said.
And she left the room, leaving her child amazed.
Vere did not understand why her mother had come, nor why, having come,
she abruptly went away. There was something the matter with her
mother.


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