"No, mother. How should I?... One does come to Rome, I suppose, if one gets a chance."
"Oh, I've not come to see Rome. I know Rome. Long before you were born.... I've come to see you. And to take you back with me."
Nan glanced at her quickly, a sidelong glance of suspicion and comprehension. Her lower lip projected stubbornly.
"Ah, I see you know what I mean. Yes, I've heard. Rumours reached us—it was through Rosalind, of course. And I'm afraid ... I'm afraid that for once she spoke the truth."
"Oh no, she didn't. I don't know what Rosalind's been saying this time, but it would be odd if it was the truth."
"Nan, it's no use denying things. I know."
It was true; she did know. A few months ago she would have doubted and questioned; but Mr. Cradock had taught her better. She had learnt from him the simple truth about life; that is, that nearly everyone is nearly always involved up to the eyes in the closest relationship with someone of another sex. It is nature's way with mankind. Another thing she had learnt from him was that the more they denied it the more it was so; protests of innocence and admissions of guilt were alike proofs of the latter. So she was accurate when she said that it was no use for Nan to deny anything. It was no use whatever.
Nan had become cool and sarcastic—her nastiest, most dangerous manner.
"Do you think you would care to be a little more explicit, mother? I'm afraid I don't quite follow. What is it no use my denying? What do you know?"
Mrs. Hilary gathered herself together. Her head trembled and jerked with emotion; wisps of her hair, tousled by the night, escaped over her collar. She spoke tremulously, tensely, her hands wrung together.