"Yes," said Lily softly. "I would never be able to do all that. I would have been such a failure. . . ."
"She's here with me now . . . in Paris," continued the Governor. "She'd never been abroad. I thought she would enjoy the sights, too, so I brought her along."
"Is she here to-day?" asked Lily. Again the Governor betrayed signs of an overwhelming confusion.
"Yes," he said, "Yes." And suddenly became silent.
For a moment Lily watched him as if the sight of his confusion provided her with some secret amusement. At length she said, "I'd like to see her. I don't ask to meet her, of course. That would be questionable taste. Besides, why should we meet? We could mean nothing to each other."
"No, perhaps not."
Again he began staring out of the window. Lily glanced at the watch on her wrist.
"I shall be forced to leave soon myself," she said. "My husband will be waiting for me."
With a start her companion turned from the window toward her.
"So you're married," he said. "And you never told me."
"You never asked me about myself. I didn't think you were interested in what my life had been."
He thrust out a great hand. "I must congratulate you!" he said with an overflowing enthusiasm. "I must congratulate you! I knew you'd marry some day. How long has it been?" The news appeared to furnish him with a genuine delight. Perhaps he felt more secure now, less frightened of Lily.
She shook hands with him quietly.
"Not for long. . . . Since three months."
"And what is his name?"
"De Cyon . . . René de Cyon. He is in the new ministry. . . . You see I married a politician after all."
She laughed again in that same mysterious, half-mocking, half-cynical fashion. It was impossible to penetrate the barrier of her composure. She was invulnerable. One could not hazard the faintest guess at what she was thinking.
"That is why I am here to-day." And then for the space of an instant she betrayed herself. "Think of it," she said.
