“Oh, you give me new hope, you clever creature! Only help me to bring it about as you say, and I will make you rich!” she repeated, appealing to the maid’s ruling passion.
CHAPTER XXI.
“But, Norman, you will forgive her. Surely it can not be so bad as you think. These flirtations of married women are so distressingly common in high society, and Camille is too proud to run any risk of her good name. Besides, she loves you.”
Mrs. de Vere looked distressfully into the white, drawn face of her handsome son as she pleaded eagerly for Camille, but by the way in which he shook his head she knew it was all in vain.
He had confided to her the story of the flirtation with Lord Stuart and his resolution to have a divorce, and the gentle woman had been shocked and incredulous. She knew all Camille’s faults and follies, but she did not think the wife had done sufficient wrong to be put away from her husband.
“Think better of it, Norman. You were not wont to be so stern and unforgiving. Camille has been imprudent perhaps, but not criminal, I am sure,” she kept on; and her son was compelled to see that she disapproved of his resolve. He sighed and resigned himself to bear it. He could not betray Camille’s hideous secret—not even to his mother.
He sat there some time pale, silent, and abstracted, without noticing the pretty gambols of Sweetheart, who was rapidly regaining strength and spirits. As he sat there, the child’s sweet, familiar little song fell unheeded on his ears:
“Yittle Sweet’art, tum and tiss me,
Whisper to me sweet an’ low,
Tell me yat oor ’art will miss me,