"Yes, I know a man who calls himself Peter God."
"Tell me—what he is like?" she whispered. "He is tall—like you?"
"No. He is of medium height."
"And his hair? It is dark—dark like yours?"
"No. It is blond, and a little gray."
"And he is young—younger than you?"
"He is older."
"And his eyes—are dark?"
He felt rather than heard the throbbing of her heart as she waited for him to reply. There was a reason why he would never forget Peter God's eyes.
"Sometimes I thought they were blue, and sometimes gray," he said; and at that she dropped his hands with a strange little cry, and stood a step back from him, a joy which she made no effort to keep from him flaming in her face.