"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.

"And if he was so bad then as that comes to, how is he such an angel now?"
"Yes, indeed--and if he was a fiend at school! How, how, how?

Well," I said in my torment, "you must put it to me again,
but I shall not be able to tell you for some days. Only, put it

to me again!" I cried in a way that made my friend stare.
"There are directions in which I must not for the present

let myself go." Meanwhile I returned to her first example--
the one to which she had just previously referred--

of the boy's happy capacity for an occasional slip.
"If Quint--on your remonstrance at the time you speak of--

was a base menial, one of the things Miles said to you,
I find myself guessing, was that you were another."

Again her admission was so adequate that I continued:
"And you forgave him that?"

"Wouldn't YOU?"
"Oh, yes!" And we exchanged there, in the stillness,

a sound of the oddest amusement. Then I went on:
"At all events, while he was with the man--"

"Miss Flora was with the woman. It suited them all!"
It suited me, too, I felt, only too well; by which I mean

that it suited exactly the particularly deadly view I
was in the very act of forbidding myself to entertain.

But I so far succeeded in checking the expression of this view
that I will throw, just here, no further light on it than may be

offered by the mention of my final observation to Mrs. Grose.
"His having lied and been impudent are, I confess, less engaging

specimens than I had hoped to have from you of the outbreak in him
of the little natural man. Still," I mused, "They must do,

for they make me feel more than ever that I must watch."
It made me blush, the next minute, to see in my friend's face

how much more unreservedly she had forgiven him than her anecdote
struck me as presenting to my own tenderness an occasion for doing.

This came out when, at the schoolroom door, she quitted me.
"Surely you don't accuse HIM--"

"Of carrying on an intercourse that he conceals from me?
Ah, remember that, until further evidence, I now accuse nobody."

Then, before shutting her out to go, by another passage,
to her own place, "I must just wait," I wound up.

IX
I waited and waited, and the days, as they elapsed,

took something from my consternation. A very few of them,
in fact, passing, in constant sight of my pupils,

without a fresh incident, sufficed to give to grievous fancies
and even to odious memories a kind of brush of the sponge.

I have spoken of the surrender to their extraordinary
childish grace as a thing I could actively cultivate,

and it may be imagined if I neglected now to address myself
to this source for whatever it would yield. Stranger than I

can express, certainly, was the effort to struggle against my
new lights; it would doubtless have been, however, a greater

tension still had it not been so frequently successful.
I used to wonder how my little charges could help guessing that I

thought strange things about them; and the circumstances that
these things only made them more interesting was not by itself

a direct aid to keeping them in the dark. I trembled lest they
should see that they WERE so immensely more interesting.

Putting things at the worst, at all events, as in meditation I
so often did, any clouding of their innocence could only be--

blameless and foredoomed as they were--a reason the more for
taking risks. There were moments when, by an irresistible impulse,

I found myself catching them up and pressing them to my heart.
As soon as I had done so I used to say to myself:

"What will they think of that? Doesn't it betray too much?"
It would have been easy to get into a sad, wild tangle about how

much I might betray; but the real account, I feel, of the hours
of peace that I could still enjoy was that the immediate

charm of my companions was a beguilement still effective
even under the shadow of the possibility that it was studied.

For if it occurred to me that I might occasionally excite
suspicion by the little outbreaks of my sharper passion for them,

so too I remember wondering if I mightn't see a queerness
in the traceable increase of their own demonstrations.

They were at this period extravagantly and preternaturally fond
of me; which, after all, I could reflect, was no more than a

graceful response in children perpetually bowed over and hugged.
The homage of which they were so lavish succeeded, in truth,

for my nerves, quite as well as if I never appeared to myself,
as I may say, literally to catch them at a purpose in it.

They had never, I think, wanted to do so many things for their
poor protectress; I mean--though they got their lessons better

and better, which was naturally what would please her most--
in the way of diverting, entertaining, surprising her;

reading her passages, telling her stories, acting her charades,
pouncing out at her, in disguises, as animals and historical

characters, and above all astonishing her by the "pieces" they
had secretly got by heart and could interminably recite.

I should never get to the bottom--were I to let myself go even now--
of the prodigious private commentary, all under still more

private correction, with which, in these days, I overscored
their full hours. They had shown me from the first a facility

for everything, a general faculty which, taking a fresh start,
achieved remarkable flights. They got their little tasks

as if they loved them, and indulged, from the mere exuberance
of the gift, in the most unimposed little miracles of memory.

They not only popped out at me as tigers and as Romans,
but as Shakespeareans, astronomers, and navigators.

This was so singularly the case that it had presumably
much to do with the fact as to which, at the present day,

I am at a loss for a different explanation: I allude to my
unnatural composure on the subject of another school for Miles.

What I remember is that I was content not, for the time,
to open the question, and that contentment must have sprung

from the sense of his perpetually striking show of cleverness.
He was too clever for a bad governess, for a parson's daughter,

to spoil; and the strangest if not the brightest thread
in the pensiveembroidery I just spoke of was the impression

I might have got, if I had dared to work it out, that he was
under some influence operating in his small intellectual life

as a tremendous incitement.
If it was easy to reflect, however, that such a boy could postpone school,

it was at least as marked that for such a boy to have been
"kicked out" by a schoolmaster was a mystification without end.

Let me add that in their company now--and I was careful almost
never to be out of it--I could follow no scent very far. We lived

in a cloud of music and love and success and private theatricals.
The musical sense in each of the children was of the quickest,

but the elder in especial had a marvelous knack of catching and repeating.
The schoolroom piano broke into all gruesome fancies; and when that failed

there were confabulations in corners, with a sequel of one of them going
out in the highest spirits in order to "come in" as something new.

I had had brothers myself, and it was no revelation to me that little
girls could be slavish idolaters of little boys. What surpassed

everything was that there was a little boy in the world who could have
for the inferior age, sex, and intelligence so fine a consideration.

They were extraordinarily at one, and to say that they never either
quarreled or complained is to make the note of praise coarse for their

quality of sweetness. Sometimes, indeed, when I dropped into coarseness,
I perhaps came across traces of little understandings between them by

which one of them should keep me occupied while the other slipped away.
There is a naive side, I suppose, in all diplomacy; but if my pupils

practiced upon me, it was surely with the minimum of grossness.
It was all in the other quarter that, after a lull, the grossness broke out.

I find that I really hang back; but I must take my plunge.
In going on with the record of what was hideous at Bly,

I not only challenge the most liberal faith--for which I
little care; but--and this is another matter--I renew what I

myself suffered, I again push my way through it to the end.
There came suddenly an hour after which, as I look back,