“I am thinking of it from the woman’s point of view,” she said, by and by.  “To have played such a part in a man’s life—­and never to have dreamed it!  Never even, very likely, to have dreamed that such a man existed—­for it’s entirely possible she didn’t notice him, on those occasions when he saw her.  And to have been the subject of such a novel—­and never to have dreamed that, either!  To have read the novel perhaps—­without dreaming for an instant that there was any sort of connection between Pauline and herself!  Or else—­what would almost be stranger still—­not to have read the novel, not to have heard of it!  To have inspired such a book, such a beautiful book —­yet to remain in sheer unconscious ignorance that there was such a book!  Oh, I think it is even more extraordinary from the woman’s point of view than from the man’s.  There is something almost terrifying about it.  To have had such an influence on the destiny of someone you’ve never heard of!  There’s a kind of intangible sense of a responsibility.”

“There is also, perhaps,” laughed Peter, “a kind of intangible sense of a liberty taken.  I’m bound to say I think Wildmay was decidedly at his ease.  To appropriate in that cool fashion the personality of a total stranger!  But artists are the most unprincipled folk unhung.  Ils prennent leur bien la, ou ils le trouvent.”

“Oh, no,” said the Duchessa, “I think she was fair game.  One can carry delicacy too far.  He was entitled to the benefits of his discovery—­for, after all, it was a discovery, was n’t it?  You have said yourself how indispensable the eye of the beholder is—­’the seeing eye.’  I think, indeed, the whole affair speaks extremely well for Mr. Wildmay.  It is not every man who would be capable of so purely intellectual a passion.  I suppose one must call his feeling for her a passion?  It indicates a distinction in his nature.  He can hardly be a mere materialist.  But—­but I think it’s heart-rending that he never met her.”

“Oh, but that’s the continuation of the story,” said Peter.  “He did meet her in the end, you know.”

“He did meet her!” cried the Duchessa, starting up, with a sudden access of interest, whilst her eyes lightened.  “He did meet her?  Oh, you must tell me about that.”

And just at this crisis the Cardinal and Emilia appeared, climbing the terrace steps.

“Bother!” exclaimed the Duchessa, under her breath.  Then, to Peter, “It will have to be for another time—­unless I die of the suspense.”

After the necessary greetings were transacted, another elderly priest joined the company; a tall, burly, rather florid man, mentioned, when Peter was introduced to him, as Monsignor Langshawe.  “This really is her chaplain,” Peter concluded.  Then a servant brought tea.

“Ah, Diamond, Diamond, you little know what mischief you might have wrought,” he admonished himself, as he walked home through the level sunshine.  “In another instant, if we’d not been interrupted, you would have let the cat out of the bag.  The premature escape of the cat from the bag would spoil everything.”