“I can’t do it,” he said aloud with a quick breath.
“Do what?” she queried swiftly, but got no answer.
“Was my mother a socialist?” he asked presently with difficulty.
“So I have always understood.”
“Who told you so?”
“My father. I thought you knew that, Christopher, or I should not have mentioned it. All I know is, she chose to be poor rather than expose you to the dangers of wealth. I know nothing else.”
Christopher stood up. “Thank you,” he said, “I believe I did know that, but I have never been reminded of it. I do not know her story: I suppose she did not wish me to know it, but I do know whatever she chose, whatever she did, it was chosen and done because it seemed to her the right course and therefore the only one she could take.”
Constantia nodded, still gazing at the fire.
“Aymer’s training on the top of that,” she mused, “I suppose you are accounted for.”
He grew red and looked a boy again. “I should have much to account for if I failed them.”