'He shall not hear.'
Simone glanced at Mistress Keziah. Marion intercepted the look. 'Dear aunt,' she said gently, 'I cannot deny that there is danger of detection. But—his need is greater than any peril we run. And should the plan fail, and be discovered, 'tis I alone who am the culprit. I shall make a full avowal. You shall not suffer, Aunt Keziah!'
'Hoity toity!' said Mistress Keziah. 'What happens in my house is my business, I trow! And who in Exeter, do you suppose, is going to lay a finger on me?'
Remembering the lady's words of warning to herself on the previous day, Simone was mute. She sat folding and unfolding a pleat in her gown, tears welling into her eyes again. There was something that would not bear thinking about in these two, one old and one young, who thus vied with each other for the honour of taking blame. To Simone's relief, for her control was fast weakening, William's step was heard in the gallery.
'Here comes a dish of tea,' said Mistress Keziah tranquilly. 'Open the door, Simone. And fetch me the cards from my chamber,' she added as the footman entered. 'Will you join me in a game, my dear?'
'I have been wanting to,' said Marion. 'Aunt Constance taught me a new one in Kensington. I should like to show you.'
Mistress Keziah dealt the cards, and Marion arranged her own share on the little table William had drawn close to their chairs. Simone seated herself at a distance with her needlework. When William returned later for the tray, to all appearance a lively game was afoot.
'He will not come back?' asked Marion, after William had departed.
'Not unless I should ring. You were saying?'
'I was saying, Aunt Keziah, that I should feel vastly more comfortable if you would go away. Go down to Garth, to my father.'