Dino looked at him long and meditatively. Brian's face expressed some surprise, but perfect tranquility of mind. He had seated himself at Dino's bed-side, and was leaning his chin upon his hand and his elbow upon his crossed knees.
"Why did you make Hugo Luttrell your messenger? Why not come to meet me yourself as Padre Cristoforo begged you to do?"
Brian shook his head. "I don't think you had better talk, Dino," he said. "You are feverish, surely. I will come and see you again to-morrow."
"No, no: answer my question first," said Dino, a slight flush rising to his thin cheeks. "Why could you not come yourself?"
"When?"
"When! You know."
"Upon my honour, Dino, I don't know what you mean."
"You—you—had a letter from Padre Cristoforo—about me?" said Dino, stammering with eagerness.
Brian looked guilty. "I was a great fool, Dino," he said, penitently. "I had a letter from him, and I managed to lose it before I had read more than the first sheet, in which there was nothing about you. I suppose he told me in that letter why you came to London, and asked me to meet you or something; and I wish I had met you, if it would have prevented this unfortunate accident of yours, or whatever it was. My own carelessness is always to blame," said Brian, with a heavy sigh, "and I don't wonder that you look coldly upon me, Dino, when I seem to have done you such an unfriendly turn. But I don't think I need say that I never meant to do it."
"How did you know that I was here?" asked Dino, with breathless interest.