Giles spoke. “You told her about Owen?”
“About Owen. That he was Maman’s lover.”
Giles put his hand up and pushed it through his hair. “You told her that for my sake?”
“Yes, Giles. So that she should not leave you to be nearer him.”
“Did you know what you were saying, Alix?” said Giles, after another moment; and after yet another moment Alix answered him.
“Not when I told her. But afterwards. After what she said. She said that Maman was a wicked woman. She said that Maman was a woman who had lovers. She said that for a woman there is no greater sin. And now, I think, I understand. Giles—Is it true?”
“My darling little Alix,” said Giles in a strange, stern voice, “it is true. But she’s not wicked. She’s wrong; but not wicked. She’s lovely, and unfortunate, and wrong, and she needs your love more than ever.”
As Giles spoke these words, Alix suddenly stumbled forward. She put out her hands blindly—for as she heard him her tears rushed down from under shut lids—and Giles’s arms received her. She was sobbing against his breast. “Oh, Giles, thank you! Oh, Giles, do you forgive me?”
“My darling child—my darling little Alix—I understand it all,” said Giles.