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"You won't misunderstand my motives?" he
concluded.
"Oh no."
He was more conscious that she was feeling something acutely.
"I feel that I perfectly understand why you gave the permission at
this particular moment," he continued, anxious to excuse her to
herself and to himself.
"Why?" Hermione said, sharply.
"Wasn't it because of Peppina?"
"Peppina?"
"Yes; didn't you--"
He looked into her face and saw at once that he had made a false step,
that Vere had not told her mother of Peppina's outburst.
"Didn't I--what?"
He still looked at her.
"What?" she repeated. "What has Peppina to do with it?"
"Nothing. Only--don't you remember what you said to me about not
keeping Vere in cotton-wool?"
She knew that he was deceiving her. A hopeless, desperate feeling of
being in the dark rushed over her. What was friendship without
sincerity? Nothing--less than nothing. She felt as if her whole body
stiffened with a proud reserve to meet the reserve with which he
treated her.


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