Wildmay's secret soul. But externally, nothing. They simply
chatted together--exchanged the time o' day--like any pair of
acquaintances. No, I don't think she had read his book. She
did read it afterwards, though."

"And liked it?"

"Yes--she said she liked it."

"Well--? But then-?" the Duchessa pressed him, insistently.
"When she discovered the part she had had in its composition--?
Was n't she overwhelmed? Wasn't she immensely interested
--surprised--moved?"

She leaned forward a little. Her eyes were shining. Her lips
were slightly parted, so that between their warm rosiness Peter
could see the exquisite white line of her teeth. His heart
fluttered again. "I must be cautious, cautious," he
remembered, and made a strenuous "act of will" to steady
himself.

"Oh, she never discovered that," he said.

"What!" exclaimed the Duchessa. Her face fell. Her eyes
darkened--with dismay, with incomprehension. "Do you--you
don't--mean to say that he didn't tell her?" There was
reluctance to believe, there was a conditional implication of
deep reproach, in her voice.

Peter had to repeat his act of will.