"Don't you know?"
"No, I do not know. Out with it."
"I can't tell you," said Hugo, biting his lips. "Don't ask me, ask someone else. Anyone."
"Is 'anyone' sure to know? I will hear it from you, and from no one else. What do people say?"
Hugo looked up at him and then down again. The struggle that was waging between the powers of good and evil in his soul had its effect even on his outer man. His very lips turned white as he considered what he should say.
Brian noted this change of colour, and was moved by it, thinking that he understood Hugo's reluctance to give him pain. He subdued his own impatience, and spoke in a lower, quieter voice.
"Don't take it to heart, Hugo, whatever it may be. It cannot be worse than the thing I have heard already—from my mother. I don't suppose I shall mind it much. They say, perhaps, that I—that I shot my brother"—(in spite of himself, Brian's voice trembled with passionate indignation)—"that I killed Richard purposely—knowing what I did—in order to possess myself of this miserable estate of his—is that what they say?"
Hugo answered by a bare little monosyllable—
"Yes."
"And who says this?"