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steadiness, his gravity, his French formality. He would be
the perfect mate for her.”
“But, madame—” began Kate, and the other woman
smiled and shook her head, interrupting her.
“I know, I know—Pallas must think she has chosen him
herself. I agree.”
“You do?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Lillitos smiled. “Pallas wants to be
hunted, to be caught, but only with her consent. She does
not want to be sold like a cabbage in the market place.”
Kate sighed with relief. “Exactly what I think.”
“But do you think it wise for Jean-Paul to flirt with you in
order to provoke her into an interest in him?”
asked Mrs. Lillitos seriously. “People may misunderstand.”
She carefully fitted several pieces into her puzzle, without
looking up, and added, “As Marc does.”
Kate’s fingers trembled as she tried to fit another piece
into an odd-shaped hole. Mrs. Lillitos gently took the piece
away from her.
“No, ma chere, not there ...”
Kate looked up and their eyes met. Mrs. Lillitos searched
the wide blue eyes thoughtfully, then Kate looked down
again. They went on doing the jigsaw puzzle in silence until
a sudden crack of thunder heralded the awaited arrival of
the storm.
Kate saw her hostess flinch. “What we need,” she said
cheerfully, “is some soft music, to drown the sound of the
storm. Have you got a radio?”
“We would waken the others,” Mrs. Lillitos said
regretfully. “But there is a record player in Marc’s office.
