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his horrible secret, when the truth came out. Would she look at him with pity, or with contempt and disgust? Could he bear to see that, in her soft green eyes?
    He looked at her with torment in his face.
    â€œOh, don’t look like that,” she said with concern. “Whatever’s wrong, it will all come right one day. Really it will. You have to look for miracles or they don’t happen, Philippe.”
    â€œHow do you know that something is wrong?” he asked at once.
    She frowned. “I don’t know. But something is.”
    His breath caught in his throat. His fingers tightened on hers. He looked into her eyes and knew at that moment that he wasn’t going to be able to let her go.

Chapter Four
    â€œI t isn’t something I’ve said, is it?” Gretchen asked, breaking into his thoughts. “I know that I’m very opinionated. I didn’t mean to be rude…”
    He brought her fingers to his lips and then released them. “It isn’t anything you’ve said. In fact, I quite admire your attitude,” he added with a smile. “Muslim women value their virtue. But it is a rather unusual trait in this day and age.”
    â€œThat’s what everyone says, all right,” she agreed whimsically. She averted her eyes. “My parents were very strict and deeply religious.” She toyed with a button on her shirt. “I suppose you’re Muslim?”
    â€œNo,” he said unexpectedly.
    That brought her face up. She searched his eyes curiously.
    â€œI am a Christian,” he said unexpectedly, and without explanation. “And so are many of my people. We are almost equally divided between Muslim, Christian and Jew. It makes for interesting politics,” he added with a grin.
    â€œI’m surprised at how much I don’t know about this part of the world,” she told him. “I thought everybody was Arab, and Muslim. But I’ve learned already that many of the people who were born in Morocco are Berbers, not Arabs.”
    â€œA people very proud of their ancient heritage,” he agreed. “The Berber language is not a written one, either. It is passed down from generation to generation verbally, and its history is woven into the carpets they sell, story by story.”
    â€œI’d love to see them,” she said.
    â€œTomorrow,” he promised. “I’ll have Bojo take us on a walking tour of the city.”
    â€œI’ve already been, but I didn’t want to look at carpets,” she said sadly. “I didn’t realize what I was missing.”
    He chuckled. “Something to anticipate,” he said. “Now, I still have some telephone calls to make, so I must leave you. I’ll be along for you just before eight.”
    â€œI only have one dress with me,” she told him. “It’s a lacy white Mexican dress…”
    He guessed her thoughts from the worry on her face. “And you think I may be ashamed of you, because you aren’t wearing something very expensive?”
    â€œYes,” she said honestly.
    He smiled. “I’m sure that whatever you wear will be charming,” he said gently. “I look forward to tonight.”
    He left her there on the swing and she watched his elegant back as he walked away. One thing this country had already impressed on her was the grace of movement that these people seemed to share with Arabs. Nobody ever seemed to hurry. It was a wonderful slow pace that suited the easy manner of life and business, unrushed, unharried. She wondered whimsically if anyone here ever got ulcers. She really doubted it.
    Â 
    She dressed with more care than ever that evening. It had been months since Daryl had taken her out and pretended to be in love with her. She thought of him with mingled shame and self-contempt. She’d been easy prey for him, in love for the first time in her life and flattered that such a handsome young man should be so