"You always manage to
find something to do."
Suddenly Vere's eyes filled with tears. She bent down her head and
went on eating. Again she heard Monsieur Emile's harsh words. They
seemed to have changed her world. She felt despised. At that moment
she hated the Marchesino with a fiery hatred.
Hermione was not able to put her arm round her child quickly, to ask
her what was the matter, to kiss her tears away, or to bid them flow
quietly, openly, while Vere rested against her, secure that the sorrow
was understood, was shared. She could only pretend not to see, while
she thought of the two shadows in the garden last night.
What could have happened between Emile and Vere? What had been said,
done, to cause that cry of pain, those tears? Was it possible that
Emile had let Vere see plainly his--his--? But here Hermione stopped.
Not even in her own mind, for herself alone, could she summon up
certain spectres.
She went on eating her breakfast, and pretending not to notice that
Vere was troubled.
Pages:
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819