“He would have done,” Saton said slowly, “if he had not died. He was just beginning to remember.”
She looked at him curiously for several minutes.
“Well,” she said, “I ask no questions. Perhaps it is wiser not. But remember this, Bertrand, I know something of the world, and the men and women who live in it. You are a born deceiver of women. It is the rôle which nature meant you to play. You can turn them, if you will, inside out. Perhaps you think you do the same with me. Let that go. And remember this. Have as little to do with men as possible. Your very strength with women would be your very weakness with men. Remember, I have warned you.”
“You don’t flatter me,” he said, a little unpleasantly.
“Bah!” she answered. “Why should you and I play with words? We know one another for what we are. Give me your hands.”
He held them out. She took them suddenly in hers and drew him towards her.
“Kiss me!” she commanded.
He obeyed at once. Then she thrust him away.
“I go with you to this conversazione to-night,” she said. “It is well that we should sometimes be seen together. I shall let it be known that you are my adopted son.”