"And turned it to myself, or, rather, to the world I lived in. I'm glad, yes, I'm glad, I was in time, and yet—oh, Mary, you won't go to Monte Carlo, will you?"
Mary stopped short in her walk, and turned to face Peter.
"Why do you say that?" she asked, sharply. "What can make you think of Monte Carlo?"
"Only, you seemed so interested in hearing me tell about staying with father at Stellamare, my cousin's house. You asked me such a lot of questions about it and about the Casino, more than about any other place, even Rome. And you looked excited when I told you. Your cheeks grew red. I noticed then, but it didn't matter, because you were going to live here always, and be a nun. Now——"
"Now what does it matter?" the novice asked, almost defiantly. "Why should it occur to me to go to Monte Carlo?"
"Only because you were interested, and perhaps I may have made the Riviera seem even more beautiful and amusing than it really is. And besides—if it should be true, what your father was afraid of——"
"What?"
"That you inherit his love of gambling. Oh, I couldn't bear it, darling, to think I had sent you to Monte Carlo."
"He didn't know enough about me to know whether I inherited anything from him or not. I hardly understand what gambling means, except what you've told me. It's only a word like a bird of ill omen. And what you said about the play at the Casino didn't interest me as other things did. It didn't sound attractive at all."
"It's different when you're there," Peter said.