He lied."
"Oh!" Mrs. Grose mumbled. This was a suggestion that it didn't matter;
which indeed she backed up by a further remark. "You see, after all,
Miss Jessel didn't mind. She didn't forbid him."
I considered. "Did he put that to you as a justification?"
At this she dropped again. "No, he never spoke of it."
"Never mentioned her in connection with Quint?"
She saw, visibly flushing, where I was coming out. "Well, he didn't
show anything. He denied," she repeated; "he denied."
Lord, how I pressed her now! "So that you could see he knew
what was between the two wretches?"
"I don't know--I don't know!" the poor woman groaned.
"You do know, you dear thing," I replied; "only you haven't
my dreadful boldness of mind, and you keep back, out of timidity
and modesty and delicacy, even the impression that, in the past,
when you had, without my aid, to flounder about in silence,
most of all made you miserable. But I shall get it out of you yet!
There was something in the boy that suggested to you," I continued,
"that he covered and concealed their relation."
"Oh, he couldn't prevent--"
"Your learning the truth? I daresay! But, heavens," I fell,
with vehemence, athinking, "what it shows that they must,
to that extent, have succeeded in making of him!"
"Ah, nothing that's not nice NOW!" Mrs. Grose lugubriously pleaded.
"I don't wonder you looked queer," I persisted, "when I mentioned
to you the letter from his school!"
"I doubt if I looked as queer as you!" she retorted with homely force.
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