When I arrived, the lady’s bell was answered by a hall-boy and, hearing the piano, I told him he need not announce me.  When I opened the door, I saw Peter and the dark lady sharing the same seat in front of the open piano.  She wore a black satin sleeveless tea-gown, cut low at the throat, with a coral ribbon round her waist, and she had stuck a white rose in her rather dishevelled Carmen hair.  I stood still, startled by her beauty and stunned by Peter’s face.  She got up, charmed to see me, and expressed her joy at the amazing luck which had brought me there that very afternoon, as she had a wonderful Spaniard coming to play to her after tea and she had often been told by Peter how musical I was, etc., etc.  She hoped I was not shocked by her appearance, but she has just come back from a studio and it was too hot to expect people to get into decent clothes.  She was perfectly at her ease and more than welcoming; before I could answer, she rallied Peter and said she pleaded guilty of having lured him away from the path of duty that afternoon, ending with a slight twinkle: 

“From what I’m told, Miss Margot, you would never have done anything so wicked? ...”

I felt ice in my blood and said: 

“You needn’t believe that!  I’ve lured him away from the path of duty for the last eight years, haven’t I, Peter?”

There was an uncomfortable silence and I looked about for a means of escape, but it took me some little time to find one.

I said good-bye and left the house.

When I was alone I locked the door, flung myself on my sofa, and was blinded by tears.  Peter was right; he had said, “Why should I give up my life to you?” Why indeed!  And yet, after eight years, this seemed a terrible ending to me.

“What do you give me in return?” What indeed?  What claim had I to his fidelity?  I thought I was giving gold for silver, but the dark lady would have called it copper for gold.  Was she prepared to give everything for nothing?  Why should I call it nothing?  What did I know of Peter’s love for her?  All I knew was she had taught him to lie; and he must love her very much to do that:  he had never lied to me before.

I went to the opera that night with my father and mother.  Peter came into our box in a state of intense misery; I could hardly look at him.  He put his hand out toward me under the programme and I took it.

At that moment the servant brought me a note and asked me to give her the answer.  I opened it and this was what I read: 

“If you want to do a very kind thing come and see me after the opera to-night.  Don’t say no.”

I showed it to Peter, and he said, “Go.”  It was from the dark lady; I asked him what she wanted me for and he said she was terribly unhappy.

“Ah, Peter,” said I, “what have you done? ...”

Peter:  “I know ... it’s quite true; but I’ve broken it off for ever with her.”