"Did what?" She bit her lip, fighting against the magnetism of his youth and her own answering passion.
"Held my tongue," said Peter grimly.
His hands fell away from her. He turned and stared out of the window.
"Some other fellow, I suppose?" He addressed the moon-lit patch of garden.
"No." Rather quickly, Jill sat down. She felt her limbs trembling beneath her.
Deeply annoyed at this sudden weakness, she went on, in a careful voice.
"Don't let's quarrel over it, Peter. It's ... just a mistake. Let's forget it."
To this he deigned no reply, still silent by the window.
She could see his profile against the sky—the well remembered set of his head on his broad shoulders; his hands were clasped in a hard grip behind his back.
"Peter?" a faint appeal sounded, against her will.