"No," she answered. "No more than I have told you. What could I say to him about the man?"
"Not about Mr. Aram. It might not be necessary to speak of him. He has his work to do; and I suppose that he must do it in his own way?"
"Yes; he must do it, in his own way. Lucius would not understand."
"Unless you told him everything, of course he could not understand."
"That is impossible."
"No, Lady Mason, it is not impossible. Dear Lady Mason, do not turn from me in that way. It is for your sake,—because I love you, that I press you to do this. If he knew it all—"
"Could you tell your son such a tale?" said Lady Mason, turning upon her sharply, and speaking almost with an air of anger.
Mrs. Orme was for a moment silenced, for she could not at once bring herself to conceive it possible that she could be so circumstanced. But at last she answered. "Yes," she said, "I think I could, if—." And then she paused.
"If you had done such a deed! Ah, you do not know, for the doing of it would be impossible to you. You can never understand what was my childhood, and how my young years were passed. I never loved anything but him;—that is, till I knew you, and—and—." But instead of finishing her sentence she pointed down towards The Cleeve. "How, then, can I tell him? Mrs. Orme, I would let them pull me to pieces, bit by bit, if in that way I could save him."
"Not in that way," said Mrs. Orme; "not in that way."