Joan thrilled to her core.
“You’re not half as thankful as I am, Perry,” she said. “We may have tired of each other—or thought we did—but at least we understood.”
“By Jove, yes,” said the man violently.
They danced the length of the chamber in eloquent silence.
Then—
“You know I’m married, Perry?” said Joan in a low voice.
“Only from what you said a moment ago.”
“Well, I am. We won’t mention his name—for reasons which will appear: but I’m going to tell you about him because I must.” Her tone sank to a whisper tense and vibrant. “I’ve bottled it up, Perry”—the man started, and the clasp of the cool fingers became a grip—“till I’m nearly out of my mind. Think what it means to have no confidant—not a single soul to talk to who can ever begin to understand. . . . I drove over here from San Sebastian, praying for death by the way . . . I came to find a confidant—some stranger that I could talk to, under the mask, and then—then I saw you.”
Peregrine felt rather dazed.
“Let’s get outside,” he said uncertainly.