ess of suspicion, of doubt, in her tone that he
ought surely to have resented. But he did not resent it.

"I was sitting on the terrace," he said, gently. "Vere came in from the
garden. Naturally she stayed to entertain me till you were here."

"And directly I come she rushes away into the house!"

"Perhaps there was--something may have occurred to upset her."

"What was it?"

Her voice was imperious.

"You must tell me what it was!" she said, as he was silent.

"Hermione, my friend, let us sit down. Let us at any rate be with each
other as we always have been--till now."

He was almost pleading with her, but she did not feel her hardness
melting. Nevertheless she sat down.

"Now tell me what it was."

"I don't think I can do that, Hermione."

"I am her mother. I have a right to know. I have a right to know
everything about my child's life."

In those words, and in the way they were spoken, Hermione's bitter
jealousy about the two secrets kept from her, but shared by Artois,
rushed out into the light.

"I am sure there is nothing in Vere's life that might not be told to
the whole world without shame; and yet there may be many things that an
innocent girl would not care to tell to any one."

"But if things are told they should be told to the mother. The mother
comes first."

He said nothing.

"The mother comes first!" she repeated, almost fiercely. "And you ought
to know it. You do know it!"

"You do come first with Vere."

"If I did, Vere would confide in me rather than in any one else."

As Hermione said this, all the long-contained bitterness caused by
Vere's exclusion of her from the knowledge that had been freely given to
Artois brimmed up suddenly in her heart, overflowed boundaries, seemed
to inundate her whole being.

"I do not come first," she said.

Her voice trembled, almost broke.

"You know that I do not come first. You have just told me a lie."

"Hermione!"

His voice was startled.

"You know it perfectly well. You have known it for a long time."

Hot tears were in her eyes, were about to fall. With a crude gesture,
almost like that of a man, she put up her hands to brush them away.

"You have known it, you have known it, but you try to keep me in the
dark."

Suddenly she was horribly conscious of the darkness of the night in
which they were together, of the darkness of the world.

"You love to keep me in the dark, in prison. It is cruel, it is wicked
of you."

"But