Then Dr. Lister saw in Basil's handwriting certain clear sentences, certain lines of verse. His face crimsoned.
"I have shown Basil's compositions in confidence to Scott," said he, firmly.
Mary Alcestis began to cry.
"He thinks they are admirable, mother." Dr. Lister drew an unwilling head to his shoulder. "My dear, let me take this burden from you. I have taken other burdens, and I should have borne this long ago."
"He could see nothing derogatory to Basil in them?" sobbed Mary Alcestis.
"Nothing. He would be outraged by such a suggestion. He would arrange them, edit them, and write a life of Basil from the information you gave him and in a certain sense under your direction."
"In a certain sense?" repeated Mary Alcestis, warily.
"He would do no prying. He would use the material you gave him and ask no questions. He would consult no one but you and perhaps Thomasina whose recollection of Basil should have value."
"I told her," sobbed Mrs. Lister. "I think I had a sort of hysteria. I didn't know what I was saying."
"What did she say?"