He was as sure, he told himself, of the exact nature of nice
little Lady Eileen's feeling for him as of his for her. Nevertheless,
that night at a dance, when he and she (for the best of reasons, they
didn't know how) were sitting out the tango, he found himself becoming
confidential.
This was strange, for Petro had one of his father's characteristics if
no other--he did not confide things in people. Peter senior kept his
own secrets because it was wise to keep them. Peter junior kept his
partly because he thought they would bore every one save himself. So
even where the two were alike, they were miles apart. For some vague
reason, however--which, if he had stopped to define it, would have
convinced him that he was disgustingly conceited--Petro was moved that
night, in a new-fashioned conservatory resembling a jungle, to tell
Lady Eileen one or two things about himself.
How it started he was not quite sure, but with some awkwardness he had
tried to lead up to the subject, and suddenly Eileen had begun to help
him out.
"I used to think a man would have to know a lot about a girl," he
said, "before he could be sure she was the sort he could fall in love
with.
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