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And I ventured to tell her so."
Hermione felt hot.
"What did she say?"
"She said she would not read them."
"Oh."
She looked up and met his eyes, and was sure she read condemnation in
them.
"After I had told Vere--" she began.
She was about to defend herself, to tell him how she had gone to
Vere's room intending to withdraw the permission given; but suddenly
she realized clearly that she, a mother, was being secretly taken to
task by a man for her conduct to her child.
That was intolerable.
And Vere had yielded to Emile's prohibition, though she had eagerly
resisted her mother's attempt to retreat from the promise made. That
was more intolerable.
She sat without saying anything. Her knees were trembling under her
thin summer gown. Artois felt something of her agitation, perhaps, for
he said, with a kind of hesitating diffidence, very rare in him:
"Of course, my friend, I would not interfere between you and Vere,
only, as I was concerned, as they were my own writings that were in
question--" He broke off.


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