that she suspected the existence of a child. She would have seemed, to an older person, to have been trying to deny within herself the possibility of that existence; to have been eager that he should convince her that he was not the child. But why should she connect the child with him? She had grown used to seeing him, perhaps, in thinking of the suspected child, she had perceived his amazing likeness to his father. This is what an older person might have supposed.
What Peewee felt was simply triumph. Someone had told her something—he did not know what or who; plainly it had not been told by his father. But his lies had convinced her that it was not true. She would remain convinced, he still could see her and she still would be happy.
Suddenly he halted, knicking one shoe miserably against the other; it had occurred to him that whoever had told her this much might tell her more. If she was told more, then lies would not convince her. He moved on, slowly and unhappily; it was plain to him that unless he knew that she was not going to be told anything more he could not dare to see her again.
