not know themselves well enough to know they enjoyed Peggy's company more than any other young lady's. But then, Mistress Modesty did not introduce Peggy to such men. Rather she only allowed Peggy to dance with the kind of man who could respond to her; and Mistress Modesty knew which men they were because they were genuinely fond of Mistress Modesty.
So as the hours passed by at the ball, hazy afternoon giving way to bright evening, more and more men were circling Peggy, filling up her dance card, eagerly conversing with her during the lulls, bringing her refreshment - which she ate if she was hungry or thirsty, and kindly refused if she was not - until the other girls began to take note of her. There were plenty of men who took no notice of Peggy, of course; no other girl lacked because of Peggy's plenty. But they didn't see it that way. What they saw was that Peggy was always surrounded, and Peggy could guess at their whispered conversations.
"What kind of spell does she have?"
"She wears an amulet under her bodice - I'm sure I saw its shape pressing against that cheap fabric. "
"Why don't they see how thick-waisted she is?"
"Look how her hair is awry, as if she had just come in from the barnyard."
"She must flatter them dreadfully."
"Only a certain kind of man is attracted to her, I hope you notice."
Poor things, poor things. Peggy had no power that was not already born within any of these girls. She used no artifice that they would have to buy.
Most important to her was the fact that she did not even use her own knack here. All of Mistress Modesty's other teachings had come easily to her over the years, for they were nothing more than the extension of her natural honesty. The one difficult barrier was Peggy's knack. By habit, the moment she met someone she had always looked into his heartfire to see who he was; and, knowing more about him than she knew about herself, she then had to conceal her knowledge of his darkest secrets. It was this that had made her so reserved, even haughty-seeming.
Mistress Modesty and Peggy both agreed - she could not tell others how much she knew about them. Yet Mistress Modesty assured her that as long is she was concealing something so important, she could not become her most beautiful self - could not become the woman that Alvin would love for herself, and not out of pity.
The answer was simple enough. Since Peggy could not tell what she knew, and could not hide what she knew, the only solution was not to know it in the first place. That was the real struggle of these past three years - to train herself not to look into the heartfires around her. Yet by hard work, after many tears of frustration and a thousand different tricks to try to fool herself, she had achieved it. She could enter a crowded ballroom and remain oblivious to the heartfires around her. Oh, she saw the heartfires - she could not blind herself - but she paid no attention to them. She did not find herself drawing close to see deeply. And now she was getting skilled enough that she didn't even have to try not to see into the heartfire. She could stand this close to someone, conversing, paying attention to their words, and yet see no more of his inner thoughts than any other person would.
Of course, years of torchery had taught her more about human nature - the kinds of thoughts that go behind certain words or tones of voice or expressions or gestures - that she was very good at guessing others' present thoughts. But good people never minded when she seemed to know what was on their mind right at the moment. She did not have to hide that knowledge. It was only their deepest secrets that she could not know - and those secrets were now invisible to her unless she chose to see.
She did not choose to see. For in her new detachment she found a kind of freedom she had never known before in all her life. She could take other people at face value now. She could rejoice in their company, not knowing and therefore not feeling responsible for their hidden hungers or, most terribly, their dangerous futures. It gave a kind of