As she called she tried the door, and found it locked.
“Madre! It’s you!”
“Yes. May I come in?”
“One tiny moment.”
The voice within sounded surely a little startled and uneven, certainly not welcoming. There was a pause. Hermione heard the rustling of paper, then a drawer shut sharply.
Vere was hiding away her poems!
When Hermione understood that she felt the strong, good impulse suddenly shrivel within her, and a bitter jealousy take its place. Vere came to the door and opened it.
“Oh, come in, Madre! What is it?” she asked.
In her bright eyes there was the look of one unexpectedly disturbed. Hermione glanced quickly at the writing-table.
“You—you weren’t writing my note to Monsieur Emile?” she said.