"Don't argue, now, Kenneth. You know Father will never allow arguing. Now that will do, we needn't say any more about it."
Lily saw on Kenneth's young face exactly that slow awakening to an uncomfortable sense of mystery, that would presently give way to concealed surmisings and surreptitious attempts at trapping down the truth, that had made life a thing of perpetual furtiveness to her own childhood.
She felt so strong a nervous impulse to speak the rending, shattering truth aloud that it came as a sharp relief to see Kenneth, after a suspicious stare at his father, get up and leave the room.
Lily gave Philip no time for the evasions that he was obviously and piteously seeking in his own mind.
"It's all right." She strangely found the words of reassurance on her lips again.
"I know Nicholas. I think he probably has been—unfaithful—with this girl. But it's a sort of passing madness—you mustn't think he's like that really."
"Lily—Lily, my poor child. But we mustn't rush at conclusions, my poor darling. I can question Kenneth quietly, later on—without letting him realize anything, of course."
"No, no. I'm going partly on intuition, Father."
"But had you suspected before, then?"
"Oh no. I knew the girl was—well, a flirt, to put it mildly, and of course I knew that Nicholas admired her. But he's never even seen her since my illness, ages ago."