“Oh, I’m not staying long....  We’ll talk later; talk it all out.  A thorough talk.  When we get in.  After a cup of tea....”

Mrs. Hilary remembered that Nan did not yet know why she had come.  After a cup of strong tea....  A cup of tea first....  Coffee wasn’t the same.  One needed tea, after those awful Germans.  She told Nan about these.  Nan knew that she would have had tiresome travelling companions; she always did; if it weren’t Germans it would be inconsiderate English.  She was unlucky.

“Go straight to bed and rest when we get in,” Nan advised; but she shook her head.  “We must talk first.”

Nan, she thought, looked pinched about the lips, and thin, and her black brows were at times nervous and sullen.  Nan did not look happy.  Was it guilt, or merely the chill morning air?

They stopped at a shabby old house in a narrow mediaeval street in the Borgo, which had been a palace and was now let in apartments.  Here Nan had two bare, gilded, faded rooms.  Mrs. Hilary sat by a charcoal stove in one of them, and Nan made her some tea.  After the tea Mrs. Hilary felt revived.  She wouldn’t go to bed; she felt that the time for the talk had come.  She looked round the room for signs of Stephen Lumley, but all the signs she saw were of Nan; Nan’s books, Nan’s proofs strewing the table.  Of course that bad man wouldn’t come while she was there.  He was no doubt waiting eagerly for her to be gone.  Probably they both were....

3

“Nan—­” They were still sitting by the stove, and Nan was lighting a cigarette.  “Nan—­do you guess why I’ve come?”

Nan threw away the match.

“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.