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She knew now that she had never been in love with him.
He had never made her heart stop, as Marc did. His kiss
had never exalted and petrified her. She could not blame
Peter. It had been her own fault for allowing herself to be
fooled by such a vague response. He had been too amiable to
hurt her, and she had never seriously thought about his
feelings.
Well, they were both free now, to find real love. At least,
Peter was—she was not free. She knew that she would
never love anyone as she loved Marc.
She heard a twig crackle nearby and turned to see Jean-
Paul, looking lost and fed up, wandering towards her.
He smiled politely. “How are you today, Kate? You look
pale. Marc told us how brave and good you were last night. I
admire your courage.”
She shrugged his compliments away. “Thank you, but
really, it was only a little thing. You’re looking rather cross
yourself.”
He grimaced. “Pallas barely speaks to me. How can I woo
her when she will not let me near her?”
“She is jealous,” Kate explained, “and uncertain of
herself. After all, she isn’t seventeen yet. Give her a chance.
You’re in too much of a hurry. Wait a while.”
“Easy for you to say,” he said forcefully, “but hard for me
to follow your advice. Do you really think she is jealous?”
“I’m certain of it. She’s been very offhand with me since
you arrived.”
Jean-Paul looked delighted. “Then you think she cares
something for me, after all?”
“I’m almost sure she does. It might only be pique, of
