It wasn’t an easy meeting. They were sharply aware of the guards who patrolled the garden and who watched Pete with stony hard eyes.
Pete was painfully conscious of his birth-mark; he sat on Frances’s right, and he kept his face turned so she shouldn’t see the birth-mark. When he did turn to
look at her, his hand went instinctively to cover the mark.
Frances felt that this embarrassment was a slight on her own feelings, and after they had talked for a little while, she said suddenly, “That mark on your face is called a naevus, isn’t it?”
He flinched and blood rushed to his face, and his eyes suddenly angry and hurt, searched for the slightest hint that she was about to bait him.
But he couldn’t mistake the kindness he saw in her eyes nor the sudden friendly smile she gave him.
“I want to talk about it,” she said quietly. “Because it so embarrasses you, and it shouldn’t. I believe you think it shocks me, but it doesn’t. Don’t you realize when I’m talking to you I look beyond that, and I don’t really see it?”
Pete stared at her, and he was convinced at once that she was speaking sincerely. He realized she had said something he had longed to hear said by someone — anyone — but had never believed he would hear it. He was so moved he had to turn his head while he struggled to control his feelings.
He felt her hand on his arm.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, but isn’t there something that could be done about it? I’ve read, I’m sure, that people can be cured. Haven’t you thought about it?”