come to him because the eleven years went by with no wretched Kaddish said for him? I cannot tell:—if you think Kaddish will help me—say it, say it. You will come between me and the dead. When I am in your mind, you will look as you do now—always as if you were a tender son,—always—as if I had been a tender mother."
She seemed resolved that her agitation should not conquer her, but he felt her hand trembling on his shoulder. Deep, deep compassion hemmed in all words. With a face of beseeching he put his arm round her and pressed her head tenderly under his. They sat so for some moments. Then she lifted her head again and rose from her seat with a great sigh, as if in that breath she were dismissing a weight of thoughts. Deronda, standing in front of her, felt that the parting was near. But one of her swift alternations had come upon his mother.
"Is she beautiful?" she said, abruptly.
"Who?" said Deronda, changing colour.
"The woman you love."
It was not a moment for deliberate explanation. He was obliged to say, "Yes."
"Not ambitious?"
"No, I think not."
"Not one who must have a path of her own?"
