Rose Aviolet’s breast was rising and falling as though she breathed with difficulty.
“Why don’t you sit down, my dear?” inquired Lady Aviolet.
Rose turned to Lucian as though she had not heard.
“You say Cecil’s bodily health is good, as far as you know. Can you say the same of his soul?”
Her eyes challenged him.
“Rose, Rose—(sixty-eight—nine—and seventy)——Please!——”
The doctor made his voice expressionless as he replied: “You must remember that I’ve only hearsay—except for one instance that might happen with any child—on which to form an opinion. But if the boy, as you say, seems incapable of speaking the truth, then, certainly, morally, he’s unsound!”
“But oh!——” The gasp came from Diana Grierson-Amberly. “Wouldn’t—wouldn’t school be the very thing to cure him of that?”
“I can’t tell.”
“No,” said Rose Aviolet swiftly, “you can’t tell. You’ve studied the subject, and you’re an expert, but you can’t tell off-hand. It’s only people who think in a rut and never get out of it, that don’t know there are two sides to every question. I’m Cecil’s mother, and I’m not a fool about things that really matter, but my opinion goes for nothing!”