ther and collected his thoughts. After all, one
might as well know.

"Oh, well ... what? Yes, what about those ghastly statuettes, and all the
rest of them? Why, when, how ... and what on earth for?"

Hilary, after a moment of silence, said, with a rather elaborate
carelessness, "I saw you didn't like them."

At that Peter started a little, and the dreaminess of the night fell away
from him.

"You saw ... oh." For a moment he couldn't think of anything else to say.
Then he laughed a little. "Why, yes, I imagine you did.... But what's the
object of it all? Have you and Cheriton (by the way, why does he glare at
us both so?) come to the conclusion that it's worth while playing that
sort of game? If you have, I can't tell you how utterly wrong I think you
are. Make him happy--oh, I know--but what extraordinary cheek on your
part! I as near as possible gave you away--I did really. Besides, what
did he mean by saying you'd advised him to buy the things--praised them
in the Gem, and all that? You can't have gone so far as that--did you?"

After a moment of silence, Hilary turned abruptly and looked Peter in the
face, taking the long cigar out of his mouth and holding it between two
white, nervous fingers.

"Upon my word," said Hilary, speaking rather slowly, "Talk of cheek!
Do you know what you're accusing me of? You and your precious taste!
Leslie and your other fool patrons seem to have given you a fair
opinion of yourself. Because you, in your omniscience, think a thing bad,
which I ... which I obviously consider good, and have stated so in
print ... you don't so much as deign to argue the question, but get upon
your pedestal and ask me why I tell lies. You think one thing and I think
another; of course, you must know best, but I presume I may be allowed to
hold my misguided and ill-informed opinion without being accused blankly
of fraud. Upon my word, Peter ... it's time you took to some other line
of life, I think."

His high, unsteady voice trailed away into silence. Peter, out of all the
dim beauty of the night, saw only the pale, disturbed, frowning face, the
quivering hand that held the lean cigar. All the strangeness and the
mystery of the mysterious world were here concentrated. Numbly and dully
he heard the soft, rhythmic splashing of the dipping oar, the turning
cry of "Premie!" Then, sharper, "Sciar, Signori, sciar!" as they nearly
jostled another gondola, swinging round sharply into a moonless lane of
a